Write Me When You Get There
by lumaluma
Summary: World War II AU - Human names used. Arthur Kirkland is a Red Cross medic stationed in Normandy. He meets wounded soldier Alfred F. Jones. This is their story. M for language and suggestive themes.
1. Chapter 1

**So, this is another World War II era US/UK story. Hopefully an original one! Please, enjoy!**

**Warning: Descriptions of moderate to severe injuries, occasional foul language.**

**While this story is complete, I've been going through and fixing any errors I come across. So… call it the story you all know and (hopefully) love, with fewer distracting grammar and context mistakes!**

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June 7th, 1944.

Arthur Kirkland, Red Cross medic extraordinaire, shook his shaggy blond hair out of his eyes as he tied a tourniquet around a young soldier's arm. He was demonstrating how to tie the proper knot to a young nurse. "And that's how. Do you think you can do it now?"

"I hope so."

"If you need any help, don't hesitate to ask." Arthur turned to the soldier. "I'm going to leave you in this young lady's hands now, all right?"

"Fine with me."

He nodded at the young man, stood up, brushed off his coat and went to wash his hands. A medic at the sink next to him sighed. "Hey, Art?"

"Yes, Floyd?"

"If you're heading that way, they need help in bed 110. Some idiot's causing a racket."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "The day these men learn to be less stubborn will be the day we can save a lot more of them. I'll see what I can do down there."

He dried his hands and continued down the rows of beds full of bloody, shrapnel-ridden, exhausted men. He stopped beside one bed, after seeing the young man pull at the bandages on his shoulder. He grabbed the youth's wrist, speaking sternly. "What are you doing, soldier? Don't make your injury worse."

The boy had tears in his eyes and he hissed between clenched teeth, "There's still something stuck in there. Metal or glass. It fucking _burns_…"

Arthur unraveled the cloth from the soldier's shoulder, inspecting the torn, raw skin. He pulled a pair of tweezers from his coat, and gently lifted a flap of skin. "Can you tell me where it is, and how deeply imbedded it might be?"

"Front of my shoulder. Not too deep, I can feel it move around when I rotate my shoulder."

Arthur nodded, spying a chunk of metal poking into the exposed muscle. Probably shrapnel from an explosion. "Found it. Now, lad, don't move. I want this to hurt as little as possible."

He pulled the shrapnel out, relieved when it came out cleanly. He smiled, holding it out to the soldier. "There we go. Anything else?"

The soldier scrunched up his brow, flexing his shoulder muscle slightly. "No. Thanks, that's loads better."

"Glad I could help. I need to rinse this out again, to prevent any infection from setting in."

"Go right ahead, sir."

Arthur cleansed the wound, carefully rebound it, and stood up. "Done. How do you feel?"

"Tired, sore, drained… the usual."

The medic nodded. "I understand. You'll be back to normal in no time, don't worry. Now, if you'll excuse me."

He saluted the soldier before moving on. He washed his hands again, moving through the monotonous – but necessary – process with his mind on autopilot. He walked by dozens of beds, their occupants sleeping, weeping, chatting with each other, or wincing in discomfort.

Some of them lay on their backs, just staring at the ceiling. Arthur pressed his lips together in a thin line. Shell-shock. These men witnessed something extremely traumatic, and weren't strong enough to pull through with their sanity intact. Arthur stopped for a second, staring at one boy. His hands shook incessantly, but his eyes were blank. He turned his empty gaze onto Arthur, and his eyes filled with tears. The medic nodded politely and resumed his march amongst the beds.

He looked at the numbers on each as he walked by. 88…89…90…

Then he heard the yelling. Sure enough, in bed 110, some American soldier was making a fuss. One of the nurses by the bed looked close to tears. The young man doing most of the yelling couldn't have been older than twenty, and Arthur figured he was still full of the bravado that many young soldiers possessed.

His right leg was fully exposed, with a nasty-looking bullet wound near the top of his thigh. The man was yelling at a nurse who was trying to calm him down. "This is all part of protocol, sir," she said with a sigh. "We're required by our superiors to give each soldier a dose of morphine before performing any operations."

"I don't give a damn about your fucking protocol, just keep that drug away from me!"

Arthur approached the bed, plastering a false smile on his face. "Now, now. What seems to be the problem over here?"

The nurse turned to him. "The patient is refusing to accept medication."

The soldier glared at Arthur. "Tell her to stay away from me with that. I know what happens to people who get hooked on it!"

The medic sighed. "Look, sir, we have to give you some form of pain reliever before the procedure. Bullet extraction, I presume?"

"Yeah, I've got a fucking slug in my leg. Just dig it out before I do it myself already! And keep your pain meds. Real heroes can take a bit of pain!"

Arthur's smile morphed into a frown and he glared at his patient. "Look, we need to get this done as soon as possible to prevent infection from setting in. I suggest you take the bloody morphine before I decide to skip the niceties and yank that bullet out of your leg myself."

"I'll skip on the morphine, thanks."

Arthur raised a thick eyebrow. "All right then, stubborn Yank. If I hear any whinging from you, I can guarantee you won't like the consequences." He picked up a clean pair of forceps and turned to the young man. "This is your last chance."

The soldier smirked. "C'mon old man, rip 'er out already."

He gestured to his leg, then leaned back on the bed with his arms behind his head. A vein in Arthur's temple pulsed slightly, but he ignored his annoyance and leaned over the young man, steadying the soldier's leg with one hand. He eased the forceps into the wound, closing them around the bullet. "Lucky for you, it seems to be fully intact. Now, I'll give you three seconds before I pull."

The young man nodded nonchalantly. "Gotcha. Go ahead."

"One… Two…" Arthur pulled firmly, yanking the bullet clean out.

The soldier hissed, digging his fingernails into Arthur's forearm. "Fuuuck…"

Arthur placed the bloodied bullet and the forceps down on a tray one of the nurses was carrying. "There. Done."

"Whatever happened to three? Jeez… bastard spiteful Englishman."

"Hey, I'm no bastard." He caught the young man's eye and they both chuckled. "You're a stubborn Yank, you know that?"

"Since the day I was born."

"Mm. Your poor mother."

"Nah, I got it from her."

"Your poor father."

The soldier smirked. "He got used to it." He extended a hand to Arthur. "The name's Alfred, by the way. Sergeant First Class Alfred F. Jones."

Arthur accepted the young man's hand, shaking it firmly. "Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland. No fancy titles, I'm afraid."

"Nice to meet you. And thanks for not making me take the morphine."

Arthur nodded. "It was nothing. Is there a reason for that, just out of curiosity?"

"Yeah. My dad fought in The Great War, and got pretty badly injured. They had him on morphine for months, and he got hooked on the stuff. My mom found out when my siblings and I were pretty young, and it almost tore our family apart."

"Oh. Well, I'll notify the nurses to make an exception for you when it comes to pain medication."

Alfred's eyes widened. "You'd do that?"

Arthur shrugged. "You have a legitimate reason, Sergeant Jones." He looked back at Alfred's leg. "I need to flush this out. It'll sting, but as you said, 'real heroes can take a bit of pain,' so I guess you'll be all right."

"Wow, not only are you spiteful, you're sarcastic too."

The medic smiled wryly. "It's a gift, believe me." As he cleaned the young soldier's wound, chatting with him all the while, he noticed just how close his face was to Alfred's groin. Arthur blinked several times and cleared his throat, trying to ignore it. But after the thought entered his mind, he couldn't shake it. He wrapped Alfred's leg loosely in bandages and lifted his head up. "There. That should do until the next time you need your bandages changed, which will probably be sometime tonight."

He could feel the blood rush to his face as he noticed for the first time just how attractive the young sergeant was. Alfred was well-built, with clear blue eyes that sparkled behind his glasses and thick, dark blond hair.

Arthur mentally smacked himself upside the head. What was he thinking? Usually he could ignore a soldier's face and the man under the uniform, since it allowed him to do his job more efficiently. But this time… for once, he couldn't help himself. Arthur cleared his throat again. "Well, I'll be going now. It was nice to meet you, Sergeant Jones."

The young man smiled, oblivious to Arthur's discomfort. "Alfred. Call me Alfred."

"Right. Goodbye, Alfred."

"Bye, Arthur. See ya around!"

The medic nodded and rushed off to wash his hands. He could still feel his cheeks burning, and his heart was beating in his throat, so he splashed some cold water on his face, trying to clear his mind. Maybe he was coming down with something? Yes, that's why he was so jumpy and hot-faced. He continued patrolling the beds, looking each soldier in the eye. No, none of them made his heart beat like that.

Arthur headed to the medics' break room, grabbing himself a glass of water. "It's probably because I was so bloody close to his… equipment," he murmured.

"Pardon?" Another medic looked at him quizzically.

Arthur waved his hand dismissively and took a big gulp of water. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"Ah."

They sat down on a bench together, sighing in relief.

"Blimey, my feet are killing me."

"Speak for yourself. Some moron walking around in his combat boots kindly took it upon himself to crush my foot this morning."

Arthur winced. "Ouch. Don't you have night shift tonight, too?"

The other man sighed. "Yeah, if my foot doesn't fall off before then."

The blond medic nodded sympathetically. "You know, if you want, I can cover your shift."

"You'd do that?"

Arthur smiled. "Of course. I haven't been able to sleep well since the Blitz anyways, too much on my mind."

The other man clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks, mate. I'll make it up to you, I swear!"

"No problem. Just get some rest."

Arthur left the room after finishing his water. He stopped the head nurse as he left, calling after her, "Excuse me, Miss McPhee?"

The woman turned around, tucking the hair that had escaped from her bun behind her ear. "Yes, Mr. Kirkland?"

"I have a specific request for the patient in bed 110. Sergeant Jones is not to be given any morphine under any circumstances. If he needs any pain relief, give him aspirin or the equivalent."

The nurse looked confused, but made a note on her clipboard. "All right. I'll tell the rest of the staff."

Arthur nodded at her. "Thank you. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

He began walking around again, scanning the sea of wounded men for someone that needed help. He noticed he was wandering back towards Alfred's bed, pivoted on his heel, and marched in the opposite direction. He ran into a nurse, and she dropped an armful of clean sheets.

"Oh, bollocks. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it, sir."

He helped her pick them up, noticing how she jumped when his hand accidentally brushed against hers. Arthur watched her practically run away, her cheeks flushed as she mumbled a 'thank you'. A nearby soldier chuckled. "Well, she certainly fancies you."

Arthur nodded. "I noticed. Funny thing is, I don't recall seeing her before now."

The soldier grimaced. "Ouch."

Arthur's medic instincts kicked in and he rushed over to the bed. "Are you all right? What hurts?"

The soldier shook his head. "Not 'ouch' for me, 'ouch' for her. Poor girl doesn't stand a chance with you, does she?"

"Oh." Arthur looked sheepish. "Sorry. Well, I'd best get back to work."

He went on his way, thinking to himself. Why couldn't he be like every other man and pay attention to the cute nurses? Why did Sergeant First Class Alfred F. Jones have to catch his eye instead? Why did he even still remember his full title? Well, Jones was a good-looking fellow… Arthur turned to one side and banged his head against a wall three times. That cleared his mind pretty well.

He noticed most of the soldiers were asleep, and checked his watch. Sure enough, it was later than he thought. 10:30 p.m., so only seven more hours until the night shift was over. He cast a glance at a sleeping soldier, whispering, "Why can't I be normal like you?"

He sighed and continued on his way. Only seven more hours of avoiding Alfred – erm, doing his job – until he could try to get some sleep.

…

Time passed very slowly that night, and quite uneventfully. Arthur, much to his dismay, actually got bored. After what seemed like an eternity of handing out glasses of water and checking up on sleeping patients, he was almost asleep on his feet. So, when he heard someone talking about a soldier whose bandages needed changing, he nearly jumped for joy.

The nurse who had mentioned it looked both amused and confused when Arthur begged her to let him do it. She handed him a roll of cloth and a pair of scissors. "Knock yourself out. He's down that row, and you can't miss 'im. He's the only one still awake, bloody stubborn bastard."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

She smirked, shaking her head as he practically skipped away. Arthur walked down the row of beds she indicated, smiling to himself. Finally, he was going to do something useful! No more wandering around aimlessly! Hopefully the soldier he was going to tend to would be chatty, that would help pass more time.

"Hi, Arthur?"

He snapped out of his reverie to see Alfred waving at him from his bed. Arthur was torn between grinning like a fool and hiding his face in embarrassment, so he settled for a sort of strained, awkward smile. _Dammit, now I look like a complete buffoon._

"Evening, Alfred. So, you're the one who needs his bandages changed?"

"Yep!" Alfred pulled the blankets off himself and was about to pull his pants off when Arthur stopped him.

"Whoa there, soldier. No need to strip."

The medic took the scissors and cut a large square of fabric from the site of Alfred's injury. "Oh, I didn't think of that. Neither did the nurses."

"To tell you the truth, most of them are too scared to get anywhere near certain parts of the male anatomy."

"And you're not?"

The Englishman laughed nervously. "Not unless I'm worried I'm going to be assaulted. Here, lift your leg up."

Alfred complied, looking slightly worried. "That's happened to you before?"

"No, but I almost assaulted someone once."

"Almost?"

"It was an accident. He had a cut on his abdomen, and I slipped while bandaging it up. My face happened to land directly on his groin." Arthur purposely left out the fact that he had gotten a stiffy from the incident.

Alfred laughed. "I can beat that. At boot camp, when I first joined the Army, we had communal showers. I meant to grab a new package of soap. Let's just say I ended up grabbing another kind of package."

Arthur grimaced. "Did he break your nose for it?"

"No, he just laughed, thank god."

Arthur finished wrapping up Alfred's leg. "There you go. That should do until morning."

"Thanks. So, you figure I've got a chance?"

"Hmm?"

"You know, am I gonna die? 'Cuz I really don't want to die in a hospital."

Arthur nodded. "You have surprisingly little muscle damage for a wound like that, and you the bullet didn't tear any major blood vessels. I'd say you'll be fully recovered in a couple months, and if you have a good doctor, you'll regain full mobility."

"So, I'll be able to still be a soldier?"

"If I had to wager, I'd bet in your favour."

Alfred grinned, his eyes lighting up like a kid's on Christmas. "Really? That's great! Thanks, Arthur."

The medic shrugged. "Just giving you my estimate. I don't think they'll even need to send you home to recover, this hospital is pretty well equipped." He prepared to stand up, smiling at the sergeant. "I should probably go now. You need your sleep, after all."

_Please say no…_

"Nah, stay a while. I'm way too wound up to sleep anyways."

_Thank god._

Alfred scooted over in his bed, patting the space next to him. Arthur sat down with a sigh of relief. "Ah… do you mind if I take my shoes off?"

"Go ahead!"

The medic kicked off his shoes, wiggling his toes in his socks as they were finally freed. Alfred propped up his pillows and leaned against them. "So, what's your story?"

"Pardon?"

"You know, why are you a medic, what's your life story, all that." He made a sweeping gesture with his hand.

"Ah. Well, it's not a very interesting story, I'm afraid."

"Go ahead! I'm curious."

"Arthur Kirkland, Red Cross medic, age 23 years old. I was born and raised in Bristol, but I trained to be a medic in London."

"Siblings?"

"Three brothers and a sister. I'm the second oldest, the youngest is fifteen."

"Why aren't you a soldier?"

Arthur sighed. "To be honest, I'm scared shitless of killing anyone. Before the war started I wanted to go into the medical field, and I decided this would be a good way to do that while also aiding my country. I signed up for training once the war started, and now here I am in a hospital in Normandy." He shrugged. "Not much else to tell. Your turn."

The young man nodded. "Alfred F. Jones, Sergeant First Class, age 21. Born in Chicago, but my parents moved to Ohio when I was little. We're farmers, actually. I used to have an older brother, but he ran away six years ago and we haven't heard from him since. We learned last spring that he died in a car crash… it was a pretty bad time for my mom and dad. At least they still have my sister, though. She turned seven a couple weeks ago."

"How old are your parents?"

"Younger than you'd think. My dad married my mom as soon as the Great War was over."

"What made you want to join the military?"

"I've always wanted to be a soldier. Not for the whole killing people part, but for the honor, the uniform and all that." He shrugged. "War isn't anything like I thought it would be, though. And now here I am in a hospital in Normandy with a big fucking hole in my leg and an English doctor."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You ought to be grateful I'm here. I took over another medic's shift because he was exhausted."

Alfred looked surprised. "Really? That's nice of you!"

Arthur shrugged. "It's no big deal."

The young soldier lightly punched him on the arm. "Seriously, though. You're a good person." Arthur snorted. "I mean it," Alfred insisted, "First you dig the bullet out of my leg, then you tell the nurses not to dope me up, and now you're keeping an injured soldier company after taking over another guy's shift! Man, no wonder the nurses love you so much."

Arthur leaned on his hand. "You're the second person to point that out tonight. But, you know, I never really noticed. I just thought they were nice to everyone."

Alfred smirked. "So busy saving lives that you didn't notice the nurses giving you goo-goo eyes?"

"You could say that." They sat in silence for a moment, before Arthur asked, "Got a girl back home?"

"Nah. No one really caught my eye, I guess. I've never even had a girlfriend."

Arthur scoffed. "You're pulling my leg. I'm sure the girls were all over you in high school, what with your looks."

Alfred shrugged. "Yeah, but they were all the same, you know?"

Arthur nodded. "That's how I feel about the nurses here. Sure, they're all nice, but…" he waved his hand dismissively.

"Yeah, I know. Well, here we are, two young bachelors far away from home."

"With absolutely no interest in the eligible women around us."

"Yeah." Alfred fidgeted with his bandage for a moment, and Arthur slapped his hand away.

"Don't. That prevents infections from having an entry point. Leave the bandage alone, if you mess with it and your wound gets infected, we might have to chop off your leg."

Alfred's eyes grew wide. "Gotcha. Mess with the bandage, lose a leg."

…

The rest of the evening passed more or less the same, the two young men sharing stories and laughing quietly. Neither noticed when the sky, whatever little of it was visible through the windows of the hospital, began to lighten. They barely noticed when the men around them began to wake up, either. But they sure noticed when one of the medics came over to relieve Arthur of his duties. The man stood at the foot of the bed, hands on his hips.

"All right, lovebirds, break it up. Shift's over. Kirkland, go get some sleep. I'll see you this afternoon, half past one, all right? As for you, Jones, we need to change your bandages again."

Arthur waved the man off. "It's all right, Floyd. I've got it."

He carefully moistened Alfred's bandages, using a bowl of clean water and a cloth, peeling them away as gently as possible. He cleaned the wound again, mindful that the soldier's nerve endings were not dulled by morphine, and rebound his leg. He clapped Alfred on the shoulder, smiling pleasantly at him. The young sergeant gave him a dazzling smile of his own, and Arthur took his leave, adding 'perfect teeth' to the list of Alfred's assets (which he pretended he wasn't compiling) as he retired to the medics' quarters.

He took a quick bath and toweled off before sliding into his bed, closing his eyes and dozing off almost immediately, for the first time since the end of 1940.

End Ch. 1

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**So, what do you think? Let me know! There'll be more to come, believe me.**

**Clarifications: June 6th 1944 was D-Day, so this story begins the day after. Shell-shock is what P.T.S.D. used to be called**


	2. Chapter 2

**A quick note: I'm attempting to keep this story as historically accurate as possible, without writing passages that sound like a history book, so there may be a few inaccuracies. Call it creative license.**

**OC's belong to me, obviously.**

June 8th, 1944.

Arthur woke up to the sounds of metal dishes clanging somewhere nearby. He rolled over and grabbed his watch. 1:00 p.m. He had half an hour before his shift started. The medic grabbed some clean clothes and staggered towards the washroom, still half asleep. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, and looked in the mirror at himself. Arthur noticed the lack of bags under his bright green eyes and decided that getting enough sleep was indeed quite good for the human body.

He ran a hand through his messy hair, decided it was a lost cause, and went to eat lunch. The food wasn't terrible, but Arthur still found it barely edible. He washed it down with a cup of – extremely weak – tea, and prepared himself for an afternoon of obnoxious, ornery soldiers.

Sure enough, the minute he left the mess hall and entered the main hospital ward, there was a young man who had thoroughly convinced himself that his swollen, obviously broken hand could still hold a gun. Even the toughest, most stubborn nurse of them all couldn't convince him otherwise. She stormed up to Arthur, grabbing him by the wrist to drag him over to the man's bed. "Kirkland, I need your help on this one. Idiot won't listen to a woman, I swear."

"MacPherson, I don't know why you can't handle-"

"Because he's one of _those_ types, like the Jones kid from yesterday! You're the only one who can manage these kinds of soldiers."

Arthur rolled his eyes, giving in to the stubborn nurse. "Fine, fine. I swear, you Scottish women are worse than the Yanks sometimes…"

"Can it, Kirkland, and work your magic. I don't want him hurting himself."

"I'm on it."

He stood over the man's bed, crossing his arms, sending him a grim stare. The soldier glared up at him indignantly, and neither spoke. Finally, the soldier spoke up. "I suppose you're here to tell me that I'm not going to shoot a gun for a very long time."

"That's correct."

The man sighed. "I just didn't want to believe it. So, are you sending me home?"

"Probably. I'll have to discuss that with my superiors. In the meantime, rest up and don't push yourself."

Arthur turned around and marched off again. Nurse MacPherson caught up to him, shaking her head. "Unbelievable. I waste twenty minutes yelling at him, and you spend all of thirty seconds just giving him the death stare before he caves! Honestly, Art, you have to teach me your secret."

He shrugged. "Practice staring at people until they start to squirm. I'm used to dealing with idiots like that."

"Oh, is that so?"

"I have younger siblings, remember? Now, if you'll excuse me…"

He continued patrolling the beds, offering advice to the nurses. Arthur stopped to tie his shoelace, crouching down, when he noticed a puddle of blood forming under a soldier's bed.

He jumped up and ran over to the man, who looked up at him, confused. "Is there a problem?"

"You're damn right there's a problem, you're bleeding all over the floor!"

The man leaned over to see, and Arthur noticed that the back of his shirt and his bedsheets were drenched in blood.

"Bloody fuck!" He peeled the shirt off of the soldier and yelled for a nurse. When the soldier saw all the blood, he began to hyperventilate. "Oh my god. That blood's mine, isn't it? Oh god. Oh shit. Shit!"

"Calm down, sir. Nurse, hand me a towel, quickly!"

Arthur wiped away the man's blood and found the source of the bleeding. It was a patch of stiches that had ripped open, right across the soldier's upper back. Arthur asked the nurse to prepare the supplies for emergency stiches, and turned back to the man. "I need you to lie on your stomach, and it's very important that you stay calm. Don't move."

The nurse came back, accompanied by another medic. "What happened?"

"Stiches ruptured. Either he's been moving around a lot, or the person who originally patched him up did a half-arsed job of it. Give him a shot of morphine, will you? He's shaking too much for me to do this properly."

Arthur waited until the soldier had relaxed considerably before setting his needle to the skin, carefully and meticulously sewing the edges of the laceration back together. He finished up, clipped the string, and carefully patted the soldier on the shoulder. "There you go, young man. Try to stay on your stomach or side as much as possible over the next few days, all right? Now, let's get you some clean clothes and bedding."

The nurses took care of the rest, sponging the blood off of the young man and redressing him. Arthur went to change his own clothes, as wandering around for the rest of the afternoon in a blood soaked uniform was not appealing to him or to his patients.

When he returned to the central hospital room, he spied a man sitting on one of the benches by the wall, looking dejected. For a moment, he almost thought it was Alfred, until he noticed this man had a much slighter build, longer hair, and odd, almost violet-blue eyes. He was no soldier, that much was clear to Arthur. The Alfred look-alike noticed Arthur scrutinizing him and looked up. The medic saw his red cheeks and tear-filled eyes, and sat down next to him, putting an arm around his shoulders. "Are you all right?"

"I… I don't know." The man sighed. "I just gave last rites to one of my friends."

"So you're a chaplain."

"Yes. Non-denominational, but I'm officially Catholic."

"Ah, I see. Have you had medical training?"

"Of course! That's part of the reason I'm like this." He leaned his head forward, bangs obscuring his eyes. "I tried to save him. I failed. He has a sucking wound in his chest, and I'll be surprised if he makes it another hour."

"I'm sorry. It's hard, I know."

The chaplain nodded. "Isn't it, eh? He was really close to me, too."

Arthur frowned in sympathy, not sure of what to say. Then the chaplain chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head. "Hell, am I ever stupid. First I fall in love with a married man, then I end up on a battlefield covered in his blood and do his last rites a few days later. And what were his last words to me? 'Tell my family I love them all.' God, what was I expecting, some deep, secret love confession?" He leaned his head in his hands. "It's my fault. I'm such an idiot."

The chaplain looked up at Arthur, a tear trickling down his cheek. "Sorry. Now you probably think I'm some kind of disgusting freak."

Arthur shook his head. "Not at all. I understand your predicament entirely."

"You do?"

Arthur nodded. "I fell in love with my trainer at the Red Cross when I studied in London. Fine man he was, thirty years old with a wife and two daughters." The medic closed his eyes. "He died in the Blitz. I never got a chance to say goodbye."

"I… I'm sorry."

"Thank you." Arthur extended a hand to the man. "I'm Arthur Kirkland, by the way. Medic, if you haven't already guessed."

The man shook his hand, smiling a bit sadly. "Matthew. Matthew Williams. Thanks for listening, by the way. That's something a lot of you medical types aren't very good at, but you don't fit that stereotype."

"Thanks. If you ever need to talk to anyone, come find me."

"I will." Matthew sighed. "I ought to go now… they're expecting a couple members of the French Resistance soon and they need my help interpreting."

"You speak French?"

"Yeah, I'm Canadian. I lived in Quebec for a long time, so I'm pretty fluent."

"Ah. Good luck dealing with the Frogs. Heaven knows I couldn't do it."

Matthew chuckled. "They're not that bad, really."

"I'll take your word for it. Take care of yourself, Matthew."

"Same to you, Arthur."

The two men stood up, shaking hands again. Matthew sent Arthur a watery smile before going on his way. Arthur sighed. Another long afternoon of taking care of soldiers… well, it was what he had signed up to do, even if he hadn't expected the job to be so exhausting.

He milled around the hospital for the rest of the afternoon, helping out wherever he was needed. When dinner finally came, he found himself unable to eat. He chalked it up to having seen so much blood and death that day, so he spent his break wandering amongst the soldiers.

He stopped to sit down on a bench and leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes. He massaged his temples, trying to relax and concentrate, when he heard someone drop their silverware on the floor and curse. He cracked one eye open and noticed that it was a young man further down the row. The soldier was trying – and failing miserably – to recuperate the fork he had dropped.

Arthur rolled his eyes and went to help him pick it up, feeling quite a bit like a babysitter as he stooped to pick it up. "Don't bother squirming around, I'll get it." He wiped the fork off on his pants handed it back to the soldier. "Here you go, sir."

"Thanks, man. Oh, Arthur, it's you!"

Arthur looked at the man for the first time. Alfred, again? The fates were not on his side that day. "Evening, Alfred."

"Boy, do you look wiped."

Arthur sighed. "You don't know the half of it. I've been running around all afternoon."

Alfred nodded. "I saw you. I'm sorry Private Smith didn't make it."

"Ah, you mean the young man with the bullet through his pelvis? I'm surprised he lasted this long, honestly. He finished writing a letter to his family this morning, which is what I think he was holding on for."

Alfred fiddled with his blankets, eyes downcast. "You've declared a lot of dead, haven't you?"

Arthur sighed, nodding sadly. "Part of the job description. It's always devastating to lose a patient, but you can't mourn them during your shift. That's part of the reason medics always look so tired, actually. We bottle up our grief for as long as we can."

"That's not healthy, is it?"

"No, it's not. Trust me. Most of us cope with it during our time off. Everyone has their own way of dealing with death, and we cope how we can."

"Like that chaplain guy who was in here earlier?" Alfred pointed to an empty bed a few spots over. "He was giving last rites to the soldier who was there. He barely managed to finish before he started crying."

Arthur nodded. "I spoke with him not long after you saw him. He's quite young to be a chaplain, really, but I think he'll do well."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "You know everything, don't you?"

Arthur snorted incredulously. "Hardly. I just noticed that he's about ten years younger than the others. Poor man's also a lot more sensitive. My guess is this was his first time losing a love – um, a friend."

"Love?"

"No, friend. I misspoke."

Alfred cast a suspicious glance at Arthur. "Sure. You know, I may not be the brightest, but I can tell when I'm being lied to." He crossed his arms.

Arthur sighed. "I don't know how you react to that kind of… situation."

"Situation?"

"A man loving another man. It's not exactly accepted by most people these days, now is it?"

Alfred shrugged. "I don't see anything wrong with it. Do you have a problem with that kind of love?"

Arthur shook his head vigorously. "Not in the least. I'm just surprised, I thought-"

"That American soldiers don't understand that sort of thing?"

"More or less." He looked into Alfred's eyes, pleasantly surprised by the young man's tolerance. The American stared back, unfazed. Arthur cleared his throat, looking away. "Anyways. That young man will have a lot of grieving to do over the next few weeks. It always hurts to lose someone you love."

Alfred nodded. "Yeah, I know. When I lost my big brother, it was awful. I know it's not the same kind of love, but still… he was a good man."

Arthur shoved his hands in his pockets, sighing. "The good die young and rotten bastards seem to live forever."

"Tell me about it." Alfred smiled, a little bid sadly, before looking around the hospital. "There are more empty beds than there were this morning."

Arthur cast his eyes downwards, speaking softly. "People give up on living when they think there's nothing left worth fighting for. Sometimes they'll be recovering perfectly, then they hear that a friend of theirs is gone, and they go downhill. You can't do anything to save them, most of the time."

Alfred frowned. "There's always something worth fighting for."

Arthur nodded. "I know. That's part of the reason I'm a medic. I don't fight the same kinds of battles as you, but what I'm fighting for is always right in front of me. It can give you hope, but if you lose the fight it tears you apart."

He looked up from the floor, meeting Alfred's bright blue gaze, and flushing slightly. "I have to go," he whispered, nodding at the American before turning around and walking swiftly to the break room. He barely heard the soldier call his name, and chose to ignore it.

He sat down on a bench in the break room with a sigh and buried his head in his hands. One of the other medics passed him a mug, and Arthur took a swig. Tea. Weak, because of the rations, but it was warm and comforting. He smiled at the man, who nodded in reply and left him to his thoughts.

Arthur checked his watch. Only an hour until his shift would be over. He leaned on his hand, sighing. The deaths of the soldiers always affected him, but he could usually suppress the pain they caused him until he was no longer on duty. But for some reason, now that he was actually befriending one of the patients, he was terrified of losing him.

In the rational part of his brain, he knew that Alfred wasn't the type to easily give up hope, and that he would heal well. But something in the emotional part of his brain made him worry. It didn't help at all that Matthew's loss had reminded him of the man he had loved, the man whose body lay buried in a London cemetery. Arthur had never admitted his affections for the man to anyone before, except for Matthew and one of the nurses who had been with him throughout the Red Cross training.

Said nurse stuck her head into the break room and motioned for him to come over. She looked sad and worried. Arthur drained his mug of tea and walked over to her. "MacPherson? What's wrong?"

"Arthur, I need your honest opinion on something."

"I'm listening."

"The boy who died this morning… the one who cried for his mother."

Arthur closed his eyes, feeling the weight of that soldier's passing on his heart again. "I remember… what about him?"

The nurse sighed. "His brother's in here as well. He wants to know if he died peacefully. Do I lie? You've always known better about these sorts of things."

Arthur nodded. "Lie through your teeth. He died peacefully. That's what you tell him. if he presses you for details, make something up."

"All right." She rummaged through her pockets. "Oh, I almost forgot. The rather dashing young man in bed 110 wanted me to give this to you. He said you dropped it earlier."

She pressed a small square of cloth into his hand, smiled at him, and went back to work. Arthur looked at it for a moment, slightly confused. He recognized it as a badge given to soldiers who show great bravery on the front lines of battle. "I definitely didn't drop this," he murmured. Arthur smiled and placed it in his shirt pocket, directly above his heart.

He went back to work, and cast Alfred a sincere smile when he walked by the man's bed, pleased when the young man returned it. When his shift was over, he returned to his room and took his handkerchief out of his bag. He sewed the badge onto it, right next to his embroidered initials.

Arthur undressed and climbed into bed, hoping for another night of blissfully dreamless sleep. He was not fortunate two nights in a row, sadly. The same nightmare that had haunted him since that fateful night of the Blitz returned.

…

It was nighttime, and dark clouds hung ominously overhead as Arthur ran through the snowy streets of London. The air raid sirens screamed all around him and the roar of bombs falling grew louder and louder. He stopped at a building, banging furiously on the door. A man opened it and pulled him inside. He shoved Arthur towards the basement, yelling something inaudible over the deafening, terrifying explosions of the bombs. Arthur grabbed the man's arm, trying to tell him something. He was pulled into a fierce hug by the man, whose words he could finally hear.

"You need to get to safety, Arthur. Get downstairs with the others, and don't worry about me. I'll see you at work in the morning."

"Wait! I-"

"Go, Arthur!"

The man released him, flung the door open, and ran out into the street. Just then, an explosion shook the building violently, knocking Arthur off his feet. As he scrambled to stand back up, head reeling, ears ringing, he saw a bomb falling, as if in slow motion, down onto the street where the man stood.

The man Arthur loved looked up towards the falling ball of flame and death, outside the safety of the building. He was calm, at peace with himself, fully accepting of his fate. Arthur was not. He rushed towards the doorway, calling the man's name desperately. The man turned to look at him, and Arthur saw that his face was no longer the face that usually haunted his dreams. It was a face that was quickly becoming cemented in his mind. Alfred's face. The American smiled at Arthur, winked, and disappeared in a flash of fire and shrapnel.

Arthur woke up screaming, hands flying out to grab at something that wasn't there. The other men in the dormitory jumped, and one rushed over. "Arthur, mate, you all right?"

Arthur panted, sweat dripping down his forehead. "Arthur! You were dreaming, you're fine." He shook the medic by the shoulders, snapping him back to reality.

"Floyd?"

"Yes, it's just me. You're all right."

"I know." Arthur's hands shook as he clenched the blankets in his fists, trying to calm himself down. "I… the Blitz. The attack on December 29th."

Floyd nodded. "You were in London then. But right now you're in Normandy. It's 1944, not 1940. You're safe now."

The other men recalled their own experiences during that time and nodded sympathetically. Arthur knew everyone had lost something, someone, in the Blitz, but he could never shake what happened that night. Not even after almost four years.

But now the nightmares had taken on an entirely new twist, one that surprised Arthur and scared him far more than the usual dreams did. Now the thought of losing this young man he barely knew, but already admired, was more painful to Arthur then the memory of losing the man he had once loved.

He lay back down, turned to face the wall, and silently let all the tears he had been holding back throughout the day pour down his cheeks. He cried for the dead, for the dying, for the families of these poor young men, for the innocents who lost their lives for nothing, for the men who would survive with haunting memories, for himself. This was how he coped. He didn't talk about it, he didn't get angry, he didn't write home about it. He just cried from the overwhelming sadness of it all.

Arthur didn't care if it wasn't 'manly', it was just his way of dealing with everything that happened around him day after day. He'd been openly criticized by some of the soldiers when he first started working, called "faggot" and "wimp" for it. Oh, how he wanted to tell them to their faces that yes, he was a "faggot," but he was far braver than any of the soldiers knew.

The other medics understood his way of coping, and left him alone about it. They never asked questions, because they knew they would never get answers. They didn't whisper about it behind his back, didn't mock him, because they knew that everyone dealt with the suffering in their own way.

Arthur lay in bed, just blinking his eyes as tears poured continuously out of them until the sun rose.

...

June 9th, 1944.

Arthur wiped the last of his tears away and got out of bed, grabbing some clean clothes. He quickly bathed himself, scrubbing away the redness at his eyes. Morning shift was about to begin. He ate his breakfast in silence, staring out the window at absolutely nothing. He was readying himself for another eight hours of non-stop work when the head nurse called him over. "Arthur, I need you to come here for a moment."

"What's going on, McPhee?"

She shrugged. "The head of the hospital's called a meeting for some of the top medics. Something about long-term patients."

"Long-term?"

"That's what he said. Now come along, you."

The nurse smiled at him, shooing him into a room with several other medics. Arthur moved to stand next to Floyd, hissing in his ear, "David, what the hell's going on?"

"There are a few men who need treatment, but don't need to be sent home for it. The boss wants us to take care of them instead of the nurses. With our luck, we'll get stuck with the biggest arseholes of the bunch."

Arthur sighed, slouching. "Ugh. Not exactly something I was looking forward to first thing in the morning."

"Me either."

The head of the hospital suddenly shut the door, startling all the medics. "Good morning, everyone. Now, my guess is you're wondering why you're all here."

Nods were exchanged around the room. "Well," he began, "You all are this hospital's top medics. There are certain patients here who require proper attention that second-rate doctors and nurses can't provide them. so, we've assigned you each a soldier who will need your help over the next few months."  
At this, a few of the men made faces of displeasure. "Oh, come off it, men. They're not that bad. We'll be introducing you to your new patient in a moment. Now, when I call your name, please come get a folder of your patient's information."

He cleared his throat and pulled a list out of his pocket. "Let's see here… Joseph Blackburn, you have Mark Aspen. Oliver Collins, you have James Evans."

Collins groaned. "No… not him…"

"Quit your whining. Where was I… ah, yes. Claude Darkwood, you're in charge of Shaun Forks. David Floyd, your patient is Paul Goldsmith. William Holly, yours is Patrick Ivanson. Arthur Kirkland, you're in charge of Alfred Jones…"

The rest was lost on Arthur. He stepped forward, grabbing the folder with Alfred's name on it. He barely listened as they were instructed on how to care for their patient. _Well,_ he thought to himself, _these next couple months are certainly going to be interesting._

**End of Chapter 2. Chapter 3 is on its way. Thanks for reading!**

**~lumaluma**


	3. Chapter 3

**And here is the third chapter! It's quite long, by the way. Next chapter will be up in a couple weeks, once I get back from vacation. I'm going hiking, and won't have internet. (How will I survive?)**

Arthur followed a nurse to a section of the hospital with small, individual rooms. He wrote down the room number on the corner of Alfred's folder. 42. The nurse knocked on the door, waiting for a reply. At a muffled call of "Door's open!" she pulled it open and ushered Arthur inside. "Sergeant Jones, I've brought your assigned medic. This is-"

"Arthur Kirkland, I know."

She looked at Arthur, slightly surprised, waiting for an explanation. Arthur smiled at her. "We've met before, don't worry."

"Oh." She shrugged. "My work here is done. Well, I'll leave you two now."

She closed the door. Arthur turned to his patient. "Good morning, Alfred. Have they fed you yet?"

"Well… no, actually. They moved me here early this morning and I haven't seen anyone since."

Arthur cursed under his breath. "Bloody neglectful arseholes… wait here a minute."

Alfred laughed. "Not like I'm going anywhere anytime soon!"

The medic opened the door and called a nurse over. "Hey, you there. This patient hasn't had his breakfast yet. Are you planning on starving him?" She shook her head and ran off. "There." Arthur closed the door. "She'll be back momentarily. Now, I'd like to discuss your treatment and rehabilitation, but that can wait until you have something inside you."

He then cringed mentally. _That sounded a lot better in my head…_

Alfred, thankfully, chose to be oblivious at that moment, and just nodded. "Sure! So, are you my doctor now?"

"Essentially. Doctor and caregiver."

"Caregiver?"

"It's my responsibility to make sure you eat, sleep, and get your bandages changed. I'm also in charge of bathing you."

"Bathing?" Alfred raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, unfortunately, bathing." The nurse returned with a tray of food, which Arthur took from her. "Coffee or tea?"

"Which is less watered down?"

"Tea. The coffee tastes like dirt anyways."

"Okay, I'll take tea."

Arthur tossed a teabag into a mug, filled it with hot water, and passed the tray to the soldier. He felt rather awkward just sitting there watching Alfred eat, so he flipped through the folder he was still carrying. It didn't contain any information on Alfred's injury that Arthur hadn't already deduced. It did, however, contain personal information about the young man: height, weight, date of birth, medical history…

Arthur stopped there, checking a list. "It seems you've had all of your vaccinations, despite the depression."

"Yeah, my family wasn't badly off, so we could actually afford medical care."

The Englishman nodded. "Good. Now we won't waste any money immunizing you." He pointed to the tray. "Hurry up and finish that."

Alfred made a face. "But the porridge-"

"Tastes like shit, I know. I'll get you some extra sugar tomorrow to make it edible. But you do need to eat, and I'll be damned if any of that goes to waste."

The soldier sighed and shoveled the rest into his mouth, washing it down quickly with the tea. "Done. So, what're we supposed to talk about?"

"Er…" Arthur flipped to the front of the folder, embarrassed for being caught snooping. "Your injury."

"I got shot in the leg. What's there to talk about?"

"Recovery treatment. I need to figure out when it'll be safe to stitch that up."

Alfred tilted his head. "Safe?"

"Large wounds like that need to drain for a few days. Sewing them up right away increases the chance of infection."

"Oh. So, you'll sew it up, and then what?"

"After I'm sure the stiches won't tear, we'll work on getting your mobility back. Stretches, small exercises, massages, walking around, that kind of thing." He checked each off on his fingers.

Alfred frowned. "I'm not flexible…"

Arthur smirked at him. "No kidding. You've got to be the most stubborn man here."

"I walked right into that one, didn't I?"

"Indeed you did. On a serious note, you need to bathe now."

"If you think I stink, just come out and say it."

The Brit rolled his eyes. "It's a matter of hygiene. The area around your wound needs to stay clean. And if I find you odorous, I won't beat around the bush. Now, I'll go get some soap and water." He left carrying the tray, and returned with a basin of water, a bar of soap, several washcloths, and a towel. "Right, strip and sit on the edge of the bed. Wash whatever you can reach, I'll do the rest."

"How am I supposed to wash my ass?"

Arthur coughed, turning pink. "I beg your pardon?"

The sergeant shrugged. "It's gotta get clean too, you know."

"Just… figure it out as you go along, all right? I've never had to do this before."

Alfred rolled his eyes and placed his glasses on the bedside table. "Great. Neither of us know what we're doing. Just don't knock me off the bed, okay?"

"Understood." The American stripped off his shirt, and Arthur turned his back to the young man. "I'll let you have your privacy." _More like 'This is so I don't openly ogle you…'_

He stared at the wall, not knowing how to break the silence in the room that was punctured only by occasional splashes of water.

Arthur heard Alfred hiss under his breath. "Shit…"

"You all right?"

"I'm fine, but would it kill you to heat the water up? It's freezing!"

The medic rolled his eyes. "I'll take that into account for next time."

"Thanks. And how the hell am I supposed to wash my hair?"

Arthur frowned, still facing the wall. "Add that to the list of things I don't know."

Alfred sighed. "I feel like a little kid."

"I understand. The constant supervision, enforced bedtime-"

"Being forced to eat shitty food, being bathed…"

"It's absolute bollocks, I know."

"Bollocks?"

Arthur rolled his eyes again. "British slang for 'testicles,' Alfred. Commonly used as a swear word."

"Oh! I get it. So, would you say, 'I'm currently washing my bollocks'?" Arthur spluttered, smacking his head against the wall by mistake. Alfred laughed. "Joking, just joking." He paused. "Actually, I'm not joking," he added as an afterthought.

The Brit put his head in his hands. "God, you Americans and talking about your genitals…"

"Hey, if you've got it, flaunt it!"

"Thank you for sharing that insight, Alfred, though I don't particularly want to hear you discuss this any longer, _thank_ you kindly."

The American laughed again. "Fine, fine." Arthur heard him splash the water a couple more times. "Righty-o, done! At least, done what I can reach sitting down. Can't do my back or below my knees, though."

Arthur grabbed a washcloth and passed it to him, squeezing his eyes shut. "Make yourself decent. Or as least as decent as you can under the circumstances."

"M'kay, you can open your eyes… prudish Englishman."

"Oy, I am not a prude! I'm just being respectful of your current lack of clothing." He grabbed the bar of soap and got to work on scrubbing Alfred's shins and feet. When the younger man stifled a snort, Arthur looked up at him, one eyebrow raised. "Ticklish?"

Alfred shook his head, trying to stop himself from smiling. "No way. Heroes aren't ticklish."

"Is that so? You and I have very different definitions of the word 'hero' then." He stood up, looking Alfred over quickly, trying his hardest not to ogle him. "Did you manage to wash the rest of your front properly?"

"Yep. How are you going to get my back?"

"I'm currently working on that. Here, turn a little to the side."

Alfred complied, so the medic soaped up his hands and began washing his patient's back. He massaged out some of the young man's most obvious muscle knots, trying to ignore his small sighs of relief. He also tried to prevent his mind from wandering when his hands soaped up the very small of Alfred's back, almost dangerously close to the man's arse.

Arthur washed away the soap, then hesitated. Alfred looked over his shoulder at him. "What's wrong?"

"You… didn't do the backs of your thighs, did you?"

The soldier looked sheepish. "Um… no."

"That's all right, I'll do them for you."

He thought for a moment. Either he could have the young man lift his legs slightly off the bed and wash underneath them like that, which would probably lead his hands very close to the man's groin, or he could have Alfred stand and put all his weight on his uninjured leg. Of course, then Arthur would have a lovely view of his patient's rear end. Either way, it would be far too intimate for Arthur to feel comfortable.

He could feel his cheeks burning. "Arthur? You all right back there?"

"Peachy. Just peachy." He sighed. "Right, I'll need you to stand up. Lean all of your weight on your left leg. And don't worry, I'll make sure you stay balanced."

He helped Alfred stand, keeping one hand on his waist to steady him. Thankfully, Alfred kept a death grip on the cloth that covered his front, saving both men from further embarrassment. Arthur soaped his free hand up and reached down to clean Alfred's thighs. He stared at his patient's back, refusing to let his eyes dip down.

He finished the first leg without any difficulty, and switched to the other. This time, much to his dismay, his hand strayed a little too high, brushing against Alfred's backside. The soldier jumped slightly, and Arthur cleared his throat nervously.

He quickly rinsed the man's legs off. "There. I presume you can wash your own arse?"

"Yeah. Shit, I can't really do that well one-handed, though."

Arthur sighed. _Why the hell did they never teach me how to bathe a patient? I swear…_ "Well, that's not really a problem. I'll just stand back here to give you some privacy. If you think you're about to fall over, say something and I'll catch you."

"Okay."

The medic took a few steps back and turned around, closing his eyes._ Not a single glimpse of his arse. I'm not sure whether to be proud of myself or disappointed._ He heard Alfred sigh, drop the cloth on the floor, and pick up the soap. Arthur smiled to himself, despite the awkwardness of the situation. Now he knew how baths were going to proceed, at least.

He rocked back and forth on his heels, waiting for Alfred to finish.

"Done, except for my hair."

"Did they wash your hair yesterday?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Then we won't bother today. You haven't exactly been getting muck in it, now have you?"

"Nah, you're right. Hand me a towel, will you?"

Arthur tossed a towel in his general direction, cursing when he heard it hit the floor. "Oh, for fuck's sake… and that's why I never played cricket." He rolled his eyes and scrambled after it, ignoring the now-blushing American who stood stock still, hands covering his privates. "Here, dry yourself off. Let me take this out of here and get you some clean clothes."

He scooped the up the basin of water, the soap, and the washcloths. He left the room, glad to be out of that situation. He dropped off the basin of water and grabbed a set of patient's clothing for Alfred. He returned to find the young man standing on one foot, towel wrapped around his waist. He had put his glasses back on, however.

Arthur couldn't help but laugh at his position, slapping a hand over his mouth. "Lordy Lou, boy, you're funny even when you aren't trying."

"Hey!"

"I'm sorry, but it's true. Come on, let's get you dressed." He helped Alfred into the shirt with minimal difficulty – except for knocking his patient's glasses askew – but struggled to get him into the pants. "Bugger. Probably should've just grabbed a hospital gown."

"Great, so now I'll be wearing a dress."

"Oh, quit your whining. If it will make you feel better, I'll wear one as well."

"All right, on that condition I'll wear the dress."

"Gown, not dress!"

"Whatever."

Arthur cut a square of fabric from the pants in the same spot he had the day before, and changed Alfred's bandages again. "And now my babysitting duties are done."

Alfred nodded. "Yep! Oh, but what if I have to piss?"

Arthur sighed. "There's a bedpan for those kinds of bodily functions. Just ask me to get it. I'm not cleaning it, however. That's the nurses' job." He smirked evilly. "And I know just who's getting _that_ duty from me…"

The American cleared his throat. "Okay… whenever you're done planning your revenge on some poor woman."

Arthur scoffed. "Poor woman? Hah, she's anything but! MacPherson's the devil incarnate, let me tell you that! I love the woman like a sister, but by god, she's never going to get a husband."

Alfred cocked his head to the side. "Wait, was that the chick with the Scottish accent?"

"Did she roll her eyes and sigh when you asked her for something?"

"Well, yeah, but I don't see-"

"That was definitely her."

"Oh." The soldier wiggled his way under the bedsheets. He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn't speak up.

Arthur noticed a trickle of water on his patient's neck. "Ah, you missed a spot." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief, wiping away the water. "There you go."

Alfred smiled at him. "Thanks."

"Oh, it's nothing." Arthur made to put his kerchief away, when Alfred grabbed his wrist.

"Wait a minute. Can I see that?"

"Certainly." Arthur passed it to him.

Alfred scrutinized it for a second, looking at the badge sewn there. He smiled, a truly genuine smile, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling up. "So the nurse did give it to you." He passed it back to Arthur.

Arthur nodded, fingering the handkerchief slightly. "Indeed she did. Thank you, by the way."

"No, thank you."

The medic looked up at Alfred, confused. "For what?"

"For choosing to save lives. That's braver than just shooting guns. You deserve that badge more than me."

Arthur looked away from his patient's earnest, blue eyes, a bit bashful. He looked down at the floor, smiling and trying not to blush. "Thank you."

He looked around the room, trying to find something to draw the attention away from himself with. "I… I'm going to go find a chair somewhere."

He left the room, letting out a small laugh of happiness as soon as the door closed behind him. He smiled at everyone he passed as he walked down the hallway. He spied an unoccupied chair sitting outside of a room, and grabbed it, heading back to room number forty-two.

When he got back, he found Alfred flipping through the folder of his own information. "What the… I didn't tell them about that! That's just plain creepy."

Arthur set the chair down and sat in it. "What is?"

"This!" Alfred shoved a piece of paper in his hands, pointing to a section labeled 'Scars and Other Defining Features.' "They fucking know I have a birthmark on my inner thigh! I know I didn't tell the staff here about that!"

Arthur sighed. "They probably recorded it on your physical examination form when you first joined the military. That information gets passed to any military hospital you get treated in."

The soldier huffed. "It'd be nice if they told us… what's next, recording dick size, under the heading 'Flaccid and Erect'?" Arthur choked, laughing despite himself. Alfred glared at him, without malice. "I'm serious!"

"I know you are, that's why it's funny!" The Brit shook his head. "I think they have a bit more decency than that."

"I don't."

Arthur scoffed. "Come off it. They didn't ask us any questions like that when we first started medical training, they're sure to leave you alone about your genitals."

Alfred looked surprised. "They don't record any information on you guys?"

"Well, they record the usual 'gender, height, weight, hair colour, eye colour, age' sort of thing. They don't even ask about marital status or sexual orientation. At least, they didn't ask me or any of my colleagues."

"So you don't have to be straight to be a medic?"

Arthur shrugged. "Not that I know of." _And I don't want to know._

Alfred whispered, so quietly that Arthur wasn't sure he'd heard properly, "So, you don't have to worry about breaking the rules like that…"

"Hmm?"

"Nothing."

Alfred was blushing again. Arthur chose to ignore it. "Do you want me to leave so you can have a nap? And don't pull any of that 'heroes don't nap' shite." He stood up, walking over to the door.

Alfred nodded. "Sure. Wake me up for lunch, though."

"Don't worry." He opened the door, winking at Alfred over his shoulder. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

…

June 11th, 1944.

Arthur burst into Alfred's room, carrying both of their breakfasts on a tray. "Rise and shine, lad!"

Alfred groaned, putting his pillow over his head. "Fuck off. I'm sleeping."

Arthur pulled the pillow off his patient. "Come on, boy. Food. Angry soldier eat food. Food good for angry soldier."

"I'm not a caveman, you know."

The Brit raised an eyebrow. "That, my friend, is debatable. Anyways," he continued, "We're stitching you up after your bath, so hurry up and eat."

Alfred's eyes widened and he reached for his glasses. "Really?"

"Of course. Would I lie about that? Now come on, dig in already. I'd say _bon appetit_, but I'm no Frog and the food is terrible."

They ate quickly, and Alfred took his hospital gown off for his bath. They had figured out a much more comfortable and simple system for bathing over the last couple days, so it wasn't long before the young man was clean and in a fresh hospital gown, waiting not particularly patiently for the nurse and assistant medic to show up.

The door was flung open not long after.

"Morning, chaps!" Floyd and Nurse MacPherson walked in.

"Aw, not you two!"

MacPherson rolled her eyes at Arthur's protest. "You're forgetting that we're the best here apart from you. Besides, you'll need a couple strong arms to hold this young buck down, won't you?"

Arthur nodded. "You're right about that. No pain meds, of course… Alfred, please avoid lashing out at us. If it hurts more than you can bear quietly, then find some way to vent that doesn't involve injuring us or impeding our work."

The soldier nodded, looking a bit nervous. "All right. Just hurry up and get this over with."

Floyd held down Alfred's uninjured leg, MacPherson the other. Arthur sterilized the area around Alfred's wound, threaded a needle, and leaned over Alfred, holding him steady. "I'm sorry in advance. I suggest you hold on to something you can squeeze, it'll help you cope with the pain."

Alfred swallowed, gripping onto the bedsheets. Arthur checked his two helpers, and upon receiving nods of confirmation, set his needle to the American's skin. He was prepared for some form of a cry of pain, albeit not what came out of Alfred's mouth.

"Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck! That fucking hurts, you _shitbag!_ Goddamn it, ow, ow, fuuuuuck!"

The soldier let out a continuous stream of obscenities as Arthur worked. He looked over at his colleagues, seeing Floyd's eyebrows retreating further and further up his forehead and MacPherson trying not to laugh.

Arthur finished up quickly, snipping the thread. "There we go. The 'shitbag' has finished, as have the 'fucking bastard' and the 'goddamn bitch'."

Alfred grimaced. "Sorry… that was better than lashing out though, right?"

MacPherson finally burst out laughing. "Good god, yes! That was hilarious!"

Floyd just shrugged. "I'm used to it. That was nothing compared to Art here when he gets drunk."

Arthur punched him lightly on the arm. "Can it, you." He shooed them out of the room. "Now bugger off and go be useful somewhere else."

"Right, right, we'll leave you lovebirds alone."

Arthur turned scarlet. "Piss off and die, Floyd!" he snarled. He flipped his fellow medic the bird and slammed the door in his face. "I swear, he'll pay for that someday."

"Why does he call us lovebirds, anyways?"

Arthur sighed. "To antagonize me. He thinks it's an absolute scream when I get angry."

Alfred snickered. "Well, it is kinda funny…"

Floyd stuck his head back in the room. "If you think that's funny, you should see him when he's drunk!"

Arthur shoved him out again. "No, he shouldn't. Now get back to _your_ patient, David. I'm sure he's just _dying_ to see you again."

Floyd groaned before leaving. "No… he's too damn cuddly!"

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Lemme guess… Goldsmith."

Arthur tilted his head. "Yes, actually. How'd you guess?"

"Well… when he misses his girlfriend, he gets a bit clingy… and a bit grabby."

Arthur chuckled. "Serves the bastard right. How does your leg feel?"

"It still stings."

"That's normal. In a couple days, we should be able to begin the rehabilitation process." He checked something in the folder. "Which means… I'll need to re-learn how to give leg massages."

"Leg massages?"

"Yes, Alfred."

"I see…" The young man turned pink. "Um. I'm tired."

"All right. I'll leave the door open a crack, so yell if you need anything." He left the room, fully aware that Alfred was _not _tired at all. "Wonder what got him all in a tizzy," he murmured to himself. "All a leg massage consists of is me relaxing the muscles in the area around his wound, so his upper thigh." He blinked. "Oh. _Oh._"

Arthur threw his hands in the air. "Well, that's just bloody fantastic. Just when I figure out how to make baths easier, too!"

…

June 15th, 1944.

"No, don't put that much weight on it-"

"Relax, it'll be fine… oh, fuck, that hurt."

"I told you so. Look, just lean on my shoulder and take baby steps. _Baby steps,_ you blithering idiot, not leaping bounds around the room!"

"Jeez, don't get your panties in a twist. I'm fine."

"If you tear your stitches, I'll-"

"You'll what?"

"Yell at you, probably."

Arthur was trying to assist Alfred in hobbling around the hospital room. A knock came at the door, so he helped the American sit on the bed and went to answer it.

An unfamiliar man with long, blond hair and stubble on his chin stood there. "Ah, good day, _monsieur._ I was wondering if, perhaps, you could direct me to ze… ze… oh, _merde,_ 'ow do you say? Ze toilet room. I am completely lost, you see, and I 'ave no idea where anything is 'ere. Zere was a nice young _Canadien_ earlier who 'elped me, but now I cannot find 'im."

The man babbled away, gesturing to and fro with his hands.

"Bloody frogs," growled Arthur under his breath. "Look, Mr. Franceypants, I'm busy. Or as you would say, _I am beezy. So beezy. Too beezy for zis sheet._"He announced in a – rather decent – imitation of a French accent, batting his eyelashes at the man and waving his arms around. Alfred snickered from his place of the bed. "Now, kindly let me take care of my patient and piss-"

"Francis, there you are." Matthew ran down the hallway, joining the two men at the doorway. "Sorry, Arthur, I was supposed to keep an eye on him but he mumbled something about the toilet and vanished."

"What is he, a psychiatric patient?"

The Canadian smirked, shaking his head. "Not at all. He's actually the head of one of the largest and best information networks of the French Resistance. Francis, this is a friend of mine, one of the best medics here."

The Frenchman took Arthur's hand and kissed it. "_Enchant__é._ Francis Bonnefoy, sly fox and _Résistance_ member. You are?"

Arthur snatched his hand away, glaring at Francis. "Arthur Kirkland."

Alfred piped up from his bed, "Bad-tempered, hardworking, stubborn bastard of a medic."

Francis waved to him. "Ah, 'ello zere. Who are you?"

The soldier put his hands on his hips, grinning. "Sergeant First Class Alfred F. Jones! I got shot in the leg."

Arthur rolled his eyes, speaking to Matthew. "He has _far_ too much fun introducing himself, I swear."

Matthew nodded. "Lucky bastard has a title to be proud of. Well, I'll get out of your hair and show Francis to the washroom. _Venez, Monsieur Bonnefoy_."

"_Mon petit lapin_, call me Francis."

"And call me Matthew. I'm not your 'little bunny', Francis."

Arthur closed the door behind them. "Good god, this place is full of those goddamn crazy French!"

"Oh, be nice. They're helping us win the war!"

Arthur sighed, sitting down in the chair. "I know that. But really, once you get them talking, they never shut up!"

"Reminds me of someone else I know…"

The Brit raised an eyebrow. "And who would that be?" Alfred just grinned cheekily at him, and Arthur glared back. "Arrogant little prick."

"Hey, I'm anything but little!"

Arthur put his face in his hands. "For the love of… stop talking about your genitals! We've been over this before!"

"You brought it up!"

"I absolutely did not, I was insulting you!"

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Hey, let's get back to walking around. I'm bored."

Arthur helped him to his feet. "This time, let's try something different. Put one arm around my shoulders." Alfred obliged, and Arthur wrapped his arm around the larger man's waist. "There we go. Now, keep your weight off your right leg as much as possible, but try walking."

They took a few tentative steps. "This is actually working pretty well!"

"Knock on wood, Alfred."

"I trust you're not going to drop me on my ass, so I think we'll be fine."

"I won't let you fall down unless you jump into my arms, which I _strongly_ discourage."

…

June 20th, 1944.

Alfred stood next to the bed, carefully bending over, stretching. Arthur was attempting to coach him. "Further, further, furth—aw, come on!"

"I can't-" The American flopped onto the bed, panting. "Ow. I told you, it's impossible for me to touch my toes!"

Arthur put his hands on his hips. "No it's not. Do I have to prove that it's humanly possible _again?_"

Alfred groaned, putting a hand over his eyes. "No… you're just a helluva lot more limber than me. But seriously, bending that far forward _can't _be normal!"

The Brit rolled his eyes. "Being able to put your palms on the floor is perfectly natural."

Alfred sighed. "Whatever. Just give me a minute to cool off, we've been at it for hours."

Was it just Arthur's imagination, or was the American letting double-entendres slip more and more often?

"Fine. Just as well, I really have to take a piss."

Arthur was about to leave when Alfred sat up and chucked the – mercifully empty – bedpan at him. "Use this. It's faster and cleaner than going to the toilets."

"But you're-"

He shook his hand dismissively at Arthur. "Relax, it's not like I'm gonna stare at your junk or anything."

Arthur sighed. "If anyone walks in, this was entirely your idea. Understood?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

Arthur relieved himself quickly, tucked himself back into his pants, and placed the bedpan outside the room. "You don't need to use it, do you?"

"Not yet. Maybe in a couple hours."

"All right. Let's get back to work."

Alfred's shoulders slumped and he gave Arthur a wide-eyed, pleading look, even throwing in a pout. "Artie, please… I'm tired. I've worked hard today, don't you think?"

Arthur sighed. Damn him for being so irresistibly cute in that hospital gown, with those big blue eyes. "Fine, you win this time. But I'm not leaving until my shift is over, so you'd best find some way to preoccupy me until then."

_Preferably some way that doesn't make me want to climb on the bed and kiss those pretty lips of yours._

"Yeah!" Alfred dropped the 'innocent little boy' routine and grinned at the Englishman. "I have an idea. I ask you a question, you answer it honestly, and then you do the same to me! It goes back and forth until we get bored."

Arthur shrugged. "Why not? We've got all night. You start."

"Okay!" He thought for a moment. "Favorite color?"

"Green. What's yours?"

"Red, white, and blue, of course!"

The medic rolled his eyes. "Figures."

"Hey, be nice. First pet?"

"An orange tabby cat named Peaches. My sister named him. You?"

"Fido. He was a German shepherd mutt of some kind. So… when you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up?"

"A veterinarian. Let me guess yours… fighter pilot, but you couldn't be one because of your eyesight."

"You're right!"

The game continued for a while, occasionally dipping into dangerous territory.

"Are you a virgin?"

"I am not going to answer that."

"C'mon, Artie!"

"Alfred, if you intend for this to be a battle of wills, I am certainly going to win."

"Fine, fine… jeez."

And more dangerous territory.

"First kiss?"

Arthur sighed, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "My first ever kiss was with my childhood friend Anna. We were four."

"Aw, how cute!"

"Hardly. It felt like kissing my sister. Strange, a little bit gross, and not at all meaningful."

"That sucks. So, who was your first _real_ kiss with?"

"Another friend. I think we were sixteen? Maybe fifteen? Anyways, my friend was moving from Bristol to Salisbury. It was a bit of a goodbye kiss as well as an I-should-have-said-how-I-felt kiss."

"What was her name?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "Erm… hisnamewasEvan."

"Evelyn?"

"No, Evan."

"That's a weird name for a girl."

"That's because it's not a girl's name, Alfred."

"Oh…" The man was silent for a moment. "Well… my first kiss was with one of the farm hands. Charles, I think his name was."

"Ah."

They sat quietly for a moment, before Arthur realized something. "Wait a minute. If you're… you know…"

"Playing for the same team?"

The medic blushed. "I suppose you could say that. How did they let you into the military?"

Alfred shrugged. "I lied. Simple as that."

"Well, it's not exactly obvious with you."

The American laughed. "You just figured it out?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I've always been horrible at guessing people's sexual orientations. You're probably not much better."

Alfred smirked. "Actually, I have pretty good gaydar. That's what I like to call it!"

The Englishman raised his eyes skyward. "And here I thought you were completely oblivious."

Alfred shook his head, grinning. "Nah. I just play dumb most of the time. That way I can get away with making stupid comments." He stretched his arms above his head. "Right, I think we can get back to stretching now. I'm rested."

"I'd be concerned if you weren't. We've been talking for over an hour."

"Really? Time flies!"

"Indeed. Now, up you get, Alfred."

The rest of the evening passed well, with minimal whining from Alfred and minimal yelling from Arthur. He flipped through Alfred's folder.

"The good news is that we're right on schedule for your rehabilitation."

"What's the bad news?"

"That you're right on schedule. The faster you recuperate, the sooner you get sent back to fight, and the sooner I get sent into danger again."

"Oh. I see what you mean…"

Arthur sighed. "Well, there's nothing we can do about it." He snapped the folder shut. "If you'll excuse me, my shift is over and I'd like to get to bed."

"And if I don't excuse you?"

"Then I leave anyways."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Fine, go to bed, grumpy Englishman."

The Brit smirked and opened the door. "Be nice, or I'll make sure you spend all of tomorrow stretching."

"Sheesh, you're spiteful!"

"And proud of it. Goodnight, Alfred."

"G'night!"

End Ch. 3

**Thanks for reading! I appreciate your feedback and comments.**

**~lumaluma**


	4. Chapter 4

July 1st, 1944.

Dominion Day. Every Canadian in the hospital was celebrating, even the most shy, reserved men and women. The English found it irritating, the French found it amusing, and the Americans found it confusing.

"Seriously though," Alfred whined, hobbling alongside Arthur on a pair of crutches, "Why are they celebrating _today_? The Fourth of July isn't for three days!"

Arthur rolled his eyes, steering his patient clear of a group of excited, babbling Canadians. "Today is their day to celebrate. We don't _all _celebrate America's Independence Day."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But I think we should just combine all national holidays!"

Arthur scoffed. "No way in hell. Only one country at a time can be permitted to behave like a bunch of drunken, raving lunatics! Even Matthew's joined in on the fuss."

Indeed, the usually well-mannered young man was stumbling around tipsily with a dopey grin on his face. "Hi, you guys! Guess what day it is!"

Alfred smiled. "Dominion Day. Everyone knows that!"

The young Canadian giggled. "Nope! Well, I suppose it is, but it's my birthday too! So I'm planning to get piss-drunk and keep everyone up until four in the morning. Guess how old I am!"

Alfred frowned, squinting at him. "I dunno… twenty?"

"Haha, yes! Guess who just turned twenty?" He pointed to himself, grinning broadly. "This guy!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "While I am happy for you, Matthew, I must tell you that you're drunk. Go have a nap. Or better yet, let that Frenchman in the corner have a go at you. I'm sure that'd sober you up."

"Frenchman?" Matthew looked around and spied Francis, who stood in a corner with a bemused smile on his face. "Hi, Francis!" The Canadian waved at him, still grinning. He turned back to Alfred and Arthur. "You know, they really aren't too bad, these French. A bit touchy-feely, sure, but they mean well. And they can get away with it, too, if they're as sexy as Mr. Bonnefoy over there!"

Arthur rolled his eyes again, Alfred laughed. "Wow, Matt, you really are drunk. Hey, go talk to him! Maybe even tell him what you think. I'm sure Francis would _love _that."

"Good idea!" The Canuck stumbled off towards Francis.

Arthur caught Alfred's eye. "Now that, my young man, was just cruel. You shouldn't take advantage of the intoxicated like that."

"Aw, come on, it's fun! Besides, don't you want to see Mattie goose that Frenchy? Five bucks says he's drunk enough to do it."

"Alfred! I am absolutely _not _going to make bets with my patient. Besides, I'm broke."

"Fine, fine. Ha! Look! Toldja so."

Sure enough, the Canadian was drunk – and bold – enough to not-so-subtly grab Francis' arse. The blond man jumped, temporarily embarrassed, but soon grinned maliciously at the inebriated chaplain.

Arthur sighed. "It seems you were correct. Come along now, I don't exactly care to see how the Frog will get his revenge."

They started walking – well, hobbling, in Alfred's case. "What, so you're taking me for a walk?"

"Essentially."

"Arf."

Arthur stopped walking and raised an eyebrow. "Pardon me?"

"Arf. Like a dog barks, you know? Taking me for a walk…"

The Brit rolled his eyes, resuming walking. "What a deplorable sense of humour."

"Hey, at least I have one."

"I do as well."

"Yeah, and what you find funny is me falling on my ass or humiliating myself!"

"No, that just makes me laugh. It's an instinctive response."

Alfred huffed. "Arsehole."

"I'm glad to hear that I've expanded your vocabulary some. Now come on, we want to get outside before the Canadians get really stupid."

"Wait, we're going outside?"

"For a short time, yes. That's why I brought this hideous jacket of yours, in case you get cold."

"Hey! It's a work of art!"

"To each his own." Arthur rolled his eyes. "Now hurry up, you lazy American."

"I'm not lazy, I'm injured!"

"Save it for someone less gullible, Alfred."

They stepped out of the front doors of the hospital. Alfred tucked his crutches under his arm. "Ahh… much better. I think I'm getting blisters in my armpits from these stupid things."

Arthur sighed. "You shouldn't if you're using them properly… remind me to teach you how. We'll walk around for as long as you can, and once your leg starts protesting we'll head back."

"It'll protest out loud?"

"That's a more eloquent way of saying 'starts hurting'."

"I knew that!" Alfred shoved Arthur playfully. "I'm just messin' with ya."

The Brit rolled his eyes. "Come along, now. And don't trip over any tree roots."

The two men strolled around the trees surrounding the hospital, Alfred stopping to point out different kinds of wildflowers. "They still have buttercups out here in July? That's lucky, ours always dry up by May. The morning glories here are different, too. Bigger and more colorful. Hey, those are windflowers! Do you get them in England?"

Arthur nodded. "Out in the countryside, yes. When we visited my grandparents out on their farm, I used to make wreaths out of windflowers. I'd give them to my mother and sister, and they usually wore them as crowns." He sighed. "Before the war, before we all had to grow up, everything seemed so simple."

"Yeah. I didn't get drafted, since I volunteered for the army, but a lot of guys I know did. They hate it, hate being forced into this, and some of them practically refuse to fight." Alfred shrugged. "War's not as noble as it used to be, I guess. When we learned about it in school, there was all this pride and honor bullshit. Now we just blow each other up and tear each other to shreds with bombs and machine guns."

Arthur nodded. "The horrors of mechanized warfare."

Both men turned back to the flowers. Alfred smiled, a small, hesitant smile. "You know… it's kinda beautiful here."

Arthur looked over at him and smiled. "You're right. When you're well enough, we should walk to the beaches. It's an overnight hike, so we won't do it for a while, but it's worth it. The beaches here have a rugged sort of beauty… I'm not much of a poet, so I won't try to describe it. You should see for yourself."

"I've seen the beaches, but that was when we first got here and were being shot at. I was focusing more on getting out of there alive than on the scenery."

"With good reason."

They continued walking around, further away from the hospital. Eventually, Alfred winced and grabbed at his leg. "Ouch. Okay, I'm done. Let's head back."

The young men went back at a slightly faster pace, Arthur worried by the grimace on his patient's face. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just stings a little. Hey, watch where you're going! You almost ran into that tree."

Arthur scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. I know how to walk without – Ack!" He tripped over a tree root, falling face-first into the dirt. "Ow."

"You okay? Anything hurt?"

"Just my pride, and that might be wounded beyond repair." He stood up, dusting himself off. "Fucking roots. They shouldn't grow on the path."

Alfred suppressed a smirk. "Artie, we aren't walking on a path."

"Well… I'll be damned." The Brit frowned. "I thought we were, so my point still holds true."

"Whatever you say." Alfred took a step towards Arthur. "Here, you've got dirt on your face." He licked his thumb and wiped a smear of dirt off of Arthur's cheek.

Arthur froze, staring into Alfred's eyes. He swallowed. "Er… thank you."

The American smiled back at him. "No problem."

Their faces were so close that Arthur could feel the other man's breath on his cheek when he spoke. He didn't dare move an inch. Alfred took a step back and started heading back to the hospital. "You coming, Artie?"

The Brit snapped from his frozen position and caught up to Alfred. "Yes, sorry."

They got back shortly afterwards, and Arthur showed his patient how to use crutches properly. Once they were back in Alfred's room, the medic took off his coat. "Bugger it all, there's still dirt on it. I just _know_ Floyd's going to accuse me of rolling around in the dirt with someone."

"Leave it here, then. The nurses come get my laundry every evening anyways. They'll bring it back by morning."

Arthur thought for a moment. "You're right." He tossed it into Alfred's laundry basket. "Should I go get us some dinner?"

Alfred sat down on the bed with a sigh. "Oof. Sure! If we're lucky, the French will have taken over the kitchen tonight!"

Arthur smiled. "I'd forgotten that the Canadian cooks are probably off getting disgustingly drunk."

"Hey, you probably get drunk like that too!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Only on a few occasions. My birthday, New Year's Eve, Valentine's Day if I'm sulking alone at home, St. Patrick's Day, Christmas if I have to spend it with my family, St. George's Day, any other day if everyone else is getting drunk and I don't want to put up with it…" He ticked them off on his fingers.

Alfred smirked. "Well, this July 14th should be interesting, then. That's when the French celebrate, right?"

"Bloody hell, you're right. We're in France! I hadn't thought of that. Shit…" The American laughed, but stopped when his stomach gurgled. He covered it with both hands, blushing. It was Arthur's turn to chuckle. "All right, all right, I'll go get that bottomless pit you call a stomach some food." He waved at the young man as he left. "As you crazy Americans say, toodles!"

…

July 4th, 1944.

Arthur was sincerely dreading opening the door to his patient's bedroom.

_Gods, he's going to be extremely hyperactive today. If only there was some way to keep him bedridden… maybe I'll tell him I'm concerned his leg may be getting infected, and that he can't move around at all! Sounds like a plan._

He smiled to himself. "I'm a bloody genius! Sure, it may not be particularly ethical to abuse my authority like this, but too bad."

He burst into Alfred's room. "All right, Jones, let's see how you're doing."

The American was already wide awake and grinning. "Hi Arthur! You know what day it is today?"

"Yes, yes, I own a calendar. Happy Fourth. Now let me see your leg already."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Jeez, I know my legs are sexy, but you should still ask nicely if you want to see them."

"Can it, tosser." Arthur examined Alfred's leg, then frowned. "Oh dear."

"What? What is it?"

"Your leg's a bit swollen, I'm afraid. We'd best keep you in bed today, can't have it getting worse!"

Alfred sighed. "Dang it. Now how am I supposed to celebrate?"

Arthur looked at him as if he was crazy. "Get completely hammered, obviously!"

"Yeah, but I don't have any booze or a drinking buddy."

The Brit smirked. "I can supply you with both."

"Really? You'd do that?"

"Of course. I'm tired of behaving professionally."

"When do you act professional? I've never seen that."

Arthur glared at him. "Ha ha, very funny. I have to behave professionally around my superiors. Now, I'll go get you some breakfast. And no drinking before three in the afternoon."

"Aw, come on!"

"No. I've had enough experience with getting sick after drinking too much too early. Trust me, puking into a bedpan is revolting. You get backsplash."

Alfred crinkled up his nose. "Ew, that's just gross. I'll take your word for it."

Several hours – and bottles of booze – later…

Arthur blinked blearily at the American. "What the ruddy 'ell are you laughing at?"

Alfred was sitting slouched on his bed, giggling. "Nothin', really. You're funny when you're drunk, and your accent gets waaaaay stronger!"

"I am not drunk! Now listen here, insolent lil' brat… I'm twenty-fucking-three years old, I can hold my liquor better than some… some… baby-faced, big-eyed, American farm boy!" He glared at Alfred. "And what's with you being so quiet? Usually I can't get you to shut up, but now you're just sitting there with that stupid grin on your face!"

Alfred was indeed grinning, completely spaced out. "I can't understand a thing you're saying, but it's cute! You talk a lot when you're drunk."

"I am not drunk, for the last time!"

"M'kay, whatever you say." Alfred yawned. "I'm getting sleepy. Hey, Artie?"

"What?"

"How come you aren't cursing like Floyd said you would?"

"I'm honest with people when I'm slightly inebri… inebra… whatever-the-fuck that word is. With David, that means I yell at him a lot."

Alfred nodded. "Mm. Okay, I'm going to sleep." He yawned again. "Can I have a bedtime story?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "What a big baby. Fine, I'll tell you a story." He cleared his throat. "There once was a handsome prince who lived in a castle on a remote island out in the sea, with only a few servants to help him. Every morning, when the fog around the isle lifted, he could see a great kingdom across the water. One day, he saw another prince walking on the opposite shore, and fell in love with him at first sight.

"He made it his life's ambition to get to that kingdom across the water and meet that other prince. When he finally built a boat with his servants' help and rowed across the water, he found that the prince was already married to a beautiful princess, and that they were happy together. Our prince was greatly saddened by this, and his heart was crushed. He went back to his own island, where he sent his servants away to live better lives. He spent the rest of his days alone, dreaming of what could have been."

Alfred glared up at him. "Well, _that_ was depressing."

"The best stories are, my dear. Now go to sleep. I'd better stumble back to my own room."

"Tuck me in first, will ya?"

Arthur sighed, but obliged. "There. You're not getting a goodnight kiss, though."

"Aw… why not?"

"Because I'm not your mother!" Arthur staggered towards the door. "Good night, you big idiot."

"G'night, lonely prince."

Arthur snapped his head around to glare at the American, but he was already nodding off. He left the room and stumbled down the hallway. "Lonely prince my arse… I'll show him yet."

…

July 9th, 1944.

Arthur took his own sweet time eating his breakfast, chatting with Matthew and avoiding chatting with Francis. When he finally finished eating and checked his watch, he realized he was late. "Oh, bollocks."

"What is it?"

"Alfred's going to be very pissy when I get down there. He's always grumpy when he gets hungry."

Arthur said a quick goodbye to the Canadian, glared at the Frenchman, and hurried to bring Alfred his breakfast. By the time he got down to his patient's room, he was nervous that something was going to get thrown at his head when he entered the room. Not gently, either, but with the force of a grumpy soldier's hunger-induced anger.

He cracked the door open, peering inside. Alfred seemed to be focused on something else, eyes closed and eyebrows scrunched together. Arthur sighed in relief and stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him.

He took a step forward when he noticed something. Alfred still hadn't acknowledged his presence, he was breathing heavily, and had one hand in his lap.

_Dear god, he's not actually…_

He was. Arthur felt a twinge of arousal shoot through him. Alfred was jerking off, and Arthur was just standing there, petrified. After a moment he coughed, hoping to startle the American. Alfred's eyes fluttered open, but his hand didn't stop its movement in his lap.

Arthur set the tray with Alfred's breakfast on it on the chair, stepped back, fumbling for the door handle, and slipped out of the room. He stood out in the hallway with his back pressed against the door, staring at the wall across from him.

_Did I just see… dear god. _He glanced down at himself. _Fuck, I'm hard. I hope he didn't notice._ Indeed, Arthur was terribly attracted to the young soldier.

The Brit waited what seemed like an appropriate amount of time before opening the door again. Alfred was bright red and avoiding looking at Arthur. The Englishman cleared his throat. "I'll remember to knock next time. I apologize."

"No, I'm sorry. I thought I had enough time to…"

"I understand." Arthur cleared his throat again. "It's perfectly natural, nothing to be embarrassed about."

Alfred grimaced. "I know, but now you're probably totally disgusted."

"Not at all." _On the contrary, it was all I could do to stop myself from hopping up on the bed and finishing the job myself._ He could tell he was staring at Alfred, so he looked down at his feet instead. "Er… you'd better eat."

"Right."

Arthur passed the tray to the soldier, flinching slightly when his hand brushed Alfred's. _He didn't wash his hands. Wait a minute, where did he even finish—_ he shook his head to clear his mind. _Don't think about that! Bollocks, too late._

The Brit quickly walked over to the window with his back to Alfred, in case his body decided to have any unwanted reactions. He coughed. "I was thinking earlier. It will still probably be about another month until you're ready to get back to fighting, but we ought to start some form of re-training soon."

"What do you mean?"

"Walking long distances carrying heavy packs, target practice, sprinting, that sort of thing. I'll participate as well, since I'll be back on the front lines as well."

"So, like boot camp all over again?"

Arthur shrugged. "More or less. Now, I'm no drill sergeant, but I'm definitely stubborn enough to make you work your arse off. I also suggest you get to know some of the members of the French Resistance, since you'll be relying a lot on their information and help once you're out on the battlefield."

Alfred laughed. "You, encouraging me to hang out with the French? And I thought the day would never come."

Arthur rolled his eyes, turning back to the soldier. "Desperate times call for desperate measures, my friend. Thankfully, while you're socializing with the Frogs, I can talk with Matthew. His company is quite nice, actually."

Alfred smirked. "Should I be jealous?"

"Hardly. He's a friend, yes, but I have no romantic interest in him whatsoever. He's having a hard enough time fending off that pervert Bonnefoy's advances as it is… though sometimes I swear he enjoys it." Arthur rolled his eyes. "Besides, he's far too soft-spoken for my tastes."

"Boy, someone's fussy!"

"I'm well aware of the expression 'beggars can't be choosers', but in this case I have every right to be particular. Besides, everyone in my family already expects me to be a lifelong bachelor, so I'm in no rush to settle down."

Alfred smirked. "I figured you're not the whole 'white picket fence thing' kind of guy."

Arthur shrugged. "I actually wouldn't mind living out in the country, but-"

Someone knocked on the door, and Arthur went to open it. Floyd stood there, looking panicked. "My patient just went into cardiac arrest. I need you to come with me _now_."

Arthur looked back at Alfred. "I'll be back in a minute."

He followed Floyd down the hallway. "What the hell happened?"

"That's what I'd like to know! One second, he was wide awake talking about his goddamn girlfriend, and the next he passes out and stops breathing! I've got a nurse performing CPR already, but she's not strong enough."

He led Arthur into his patient's room, where a nurse was indeed doing chest compressions.

"Any luck?"

She shook her head. "Not yet."

"Kirkland, you take over that. I'll do emergency breaths. Nurse, stand by in case we need you."

The men set to work, trying to revive Floyd's patient. Arthur was trying to figure out what happened to him while he worked. "So, he wasn't choking on anything at the time, he wasn't struggling to breathe, he doesn't have a history of blood clots… high blood pressure, maybe?"

Floyd lifted his head up. "You think I know? We'll figure it out if we manage to bring him back!"

They spent several minutes on emergency resuscitation methods, to no avail. Floyd shook his head. "He's gone. Damn it all! What happened?"

Arthur stopped doing compressions. "Fuck. Fuck!" He pounded once on the soldier's chest, far harder than he had been compressing earlier. "What was the official time of death?"

"It was nine-thirty, and—wait a minute!"

Floyd snapped his head back to his patient. The young man's chest was rising and falling steadily. "He's breathing?"

Arthur grabbed his wrist. "Pulse is back. Strong, too."

Floyd collapsed into a chair. "Thank god. But how the hell…?"

The nurse spoke up. "Medic Kirkland, I think that blow to the chest must have done it somehow. Is he conscious?"

"Let's find out." Floyd gently shook the young man's shoulder. "Goldsmith, you in there?"

The soldier's eyes opened. "I'm awake. What's with the big fuss?"

Arthur sighed in relief. "You were dead for about ten minutes there, lad. Do you know who you are?"

"Private Paul Goldsmith, from Topeka, Kansas. Stuck in a hospital in Normandy 'cuz some fucking Kraut shot me in the collarbone. Why?"

The two medics nodded at each other. "If there's any brain damage, it seems to be minimal," Floyd stated. "Tell me, do you remember what happened?"

The private scrunched up his brow. "I remember… I was just sitting here, talking to Floyd, when it felt like something was smothering my heart. I couldn't breathe. That's all."

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

Arthur frowned. "Far too young for a heart attack, unless it runs in the family…"

The young man nodded. "It does. My dad's had four, and he's only forty-three."

Both men's eyebrows rose. "That explains it."

"I'd better record that in his paperwork. Thanks, Art."

The blond shrugged. "It was nothing. Glad to help a friend save a life."

"Seriously though, I can't thank you enough!"

Arthur smiled. "All in a day's work, David. Now keep an eye on that boy, you hear me?"

"Will do."

Arthur nodded at Floyd and Goldsmith, excused himself, and went back to room number forty-two.

"Hey, did he make it?"

"Indeed he did."

Alfred sighed in relief. "Phew. Good thing, too. He's a good kid."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Oh, should I be jealous?"

The American laughed. "Nah. He's far too smitten with that Jenny chick. Besides, I don't go for younger men. Older guys are better."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I've learned the exact opposite. Older men get married and break your heart."

"Except for you and Floyd."

The Brit smirked. "I'm in no danger of getting married, and Floyd's having trouble finding a woman who can keep him in line, I'd say. He's gone through how many serious girlfriends since I've known him? Six? Seven? I think it's been one or two a year."

"And he's never asked why you don't have a girlfriend?"

"He thought I was in love with MacPherson for the longest time."

Alfred snorted. "Boy, did he ever get _that_ wrong."

"No kidding." Arthur sighed. "Right, time for your bath. Though I feel like I need one too…"

The soldier cocked his head. "Why?"

"I was doing chest compressions on a dead body for seven minutes."

"Oh. Well, how about you wash my back and I wash yours?"

Arthur smirked. "Sounds like a deal to me."

That night, Arthur dreamed of Alfred. Not a particularly innocent dream, either, to put it politely. And the next morning, he was extremely glad it was laundry day so he wouldn't have to explain the mess on the sheets to the poor girl collecting the laundry.

…

July 16th, 1944.

"Come on, you lazy slug!"

"Fuck off, Arthur."

"Don't use that kind of language with me, boy. Now, if you ever want to get in shape for fighting again, you'll pick that bag up and keep walking."

Alfred wiped sweat off his forehead and glared at Arthur. "You put rocks in the pack. Fucking _rocks_. Why couldn't you put something a little less sharp and uncomfortable in it?"

"Because I needed something heavy, and there were plenty of rocks around." Arthur rolled his eyes. "Pick that up and let's _go_, already!"

Alfred sat down on the ground with a huff. "Only if you prove that you're strong enough to carry that."

The medic sighed, but stretched his arms out. "Fine, give it here." Alfred picked up the military backpack – with difficulty – and handed it to Arthur. The Brit put it on, tightened the straps slightly, and held a hand out to Alfred, helping him up. "Right, let's go. I'll carry it a little ways."

He started off, at a faster pace than the soldier had been walking earlier. The American was incredulous. "But… you're a medic! You're not supposed to be strong!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I have to be able to carry men who weigh quite a bit more than I do. I'm stronger than I look. I'm carrying your water, by the way, so if you want any you'd better keep up."

Alfred shook his head. "I don't believe it. Way to make me feel bad about myself." He caught up to Arthur. "I mean, I knew you had some muscle, but really!"

"Says the man who called me a scrawny weakling two days ago."

"I was joking!"

"Sure."

"No, seriously. I saw you dragging wounded guys out of harm's way when we were carrying out Operation Neptune."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You could recognize me after seeing me with that ridiculous helmet on?"

"It was more your way of speaking I recognized."

"Eh?"

"Well," Alfred began, "After I got shot you pulled me off to the side, called me a stupid wanker, shoved gauze into my wound, handed me my gun, told me 'don't you dare move a bloody millimeter until it's safe', and went back into the fray."

Arthur scrunched up his brows. "Huh. You're right, that was you. That day was extremely hectic, so I don't remember many of the soldiers' faces."

"But you remember mine?"

"Because you yelled back at me. Everyone else just nodded and did what they were told, but not you. No, Alfred Fucking Jones _had_ to try to be a hero. You just _had_ to try to crawl out of safety. And you had the audacity to flip me off while you were at it!"

Alfred shrugged. "Sorry. I didn't know you'd end up being…" He trailed off.

"Being what?"

"You know. My friend, medic, all that."

"Mm. Neither did I."

The American smiled. "But I'm glad you are!"

Arthur blushed and glared at his patient. "I'm assuming that since you're not tired enough to keep your yap shut, you're able to take the pack now." He took it off and thrust it into Alfred's arms. "Here. You set the pace, young master hero."

"Was that a touch of sarcasm I heard?"

"Perhaps. Now get a move on, you." He slapped the young man lightly on the rear end, smirking when Alfred jumped and turned pink.

The soldier sped up, hiding his embarrassed flush. "Jeez! I know you're supposed to act like a drill sergeant and all, but I don't need the demeaning butt-slaps to encourage me!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "It certainly seemed to work."

"T-that doesn't mean it's acceptable!"

"What, are you going to report me for sexual harassment or something?"

Alfred made a face. "…no, I'm not. Just give me a little warning next time, 'kay?"

"What, so you want me to say 'just to let you know, I'm planning to smack your arse in twelve seconds' or something like that?"

"Whatever floats your boat, dude. We used to hell 'heads up' to each other."

The Brit smirked. "So that's a common practice in your regiment?"

"Yeah… most of the guys have even less of a sense of privacy than me."

"I find that hard to believe, Sergeant don't-mind-me-I'm-just-jerking-off Jones."

Alfred tripped over a rock, stuttering, "I-I didn't do that on purpose! And that was only once! Besides, have you ever tried stopping once you're really into it?"

Arthur chuckled. "No, and I don't plan on ever having to."

"Well it's fucking hard, okay?"

"No kidding."

The soldier closed his eyes and sighed. "I really need to learn to watch my mouth around you, don't I?"

"No, don't bother. I find it highly amusing."

"Shut up."

Arthur smiled. "I will when you do, which means never."

"Touché, Artie, touché."

…

July 21st, 1944

Alfred was chatting up a storm with the French Resistance members who were still at the hospital. Among them, much to Arthur's disdain, was Francis Bonnefoy. He was conveying his feelings on this matter to Matthew at a separate table.

"All I'm saying is that he'd better keep his Froggy hands off my patient."

"Ooh, _your _patient. Getting a bit possessive there, eh, Arthur?"

The Brit shot a glare at Matthew. "Shut up."

"Aw, come off it. You can't hide your feelings forever."

"You're one to talk."

Matthew blushed. "Shut up. Anyways, I've seen how you look at him. Don't be shy, okay?"

"What are you, some kind of mind reader?"

"No, just a man who's observant of how people interact. For example, you see Medic Floyd over there?"

"Yes, what about him?"

The Canadian smiled. "He's smitten with Nurse MacPherson."

Arthur scoffed. "That's total bollocks. He said years ago that he could never fall for a woman like her."

"Ah, but that was years ago, wasn't it? Look again."

Arthur glanced over at his two friends. "By god, I think you're right. He only has that dopey smile on his face when he's in love. I'd better talk to him about that later."

He heard Alfred laugh loudly, and looked over to see him still babbling away. Arthur sighed. "He's almost ready to be sent out East. I'll probably be able to sign off on his complete recovery by August."

Matthew sighed as well. "That means we'll be getting sent out soon enough, eh?"

"Yes, it does. Can't say I'm exactly looking forward to getting shot at again. Honestly, they _knew_ I was a noncombatant, but the damn Germans kept lobbing grenades at me last time I was out in the fray!"

Matthew grimaced. "Same here. Let me guess, you didn't have a gun either?"

"No! It was fucking annoying."

Both men shook their heads.

"_Mais,_ Monsieur Alfred, you do know zat we are all going to be in ze fighting together, don't you? Zey will be sending us to _Paris_ to liberate my beautiful city from zose stupid Germans next month! I can only 'ope zat my beautiful _boulangerie-pâtisserie _'as not been destroyed."

Arthur and Matthew were suddenly very interested in what Alfred and Francis were discussing.

"Liberate Paris," Arthur murmured, "Already?"

"Really?" Alfred piped up. "So I'll be working with you guys?"

"Most likely, yes. Zat depends if you are well enough to fight. 'Ave you discussed it with Monsieur Kirkland yet?"

The American tilted his head to one side. "No… I mean, not recently. Should I?"

"Of course, if you want to get back into ze fight!"

"You're right. I should get back to serving my country as soon as I can."

Arthur stood up, clearing his throat. Alfred looked up. "Hey, Artie, where you going?"

"I'm going to get a glass of water. I'll be back momentarily."

He gave Matthew a quick smile before heading to the break room. He grabbed a mug, filled it with water, and sat down on the bench. "Fucking noble soldiers. 'Get back to serving my country' and all that shite," he mumbled to himself. "Leave me behind and go be a hero, sure." Arthur sighed. "Fucking moron."

He realized he was talking about himself and smiled wryly.

_Of course he wants to be a hero. He wants to get home as quickly as possible, just like the rest of them. That's what every soldier wants. Who am I to think he'd care about the man who helped save his leg? A fool, that's what._

Arthur closed his eyes and sighed. "Fucking Americans. Fucking war."

"Heh, I know how you feel."

The Brit cracked one eye open and saw Floyd standing there. "Hello, Floyd."

"G'morning, Art. Well, evening, actually. Haven't looked at the clock in quite a while."

"Did you have a reason for coming here, or did you just come to see me bask in my misery?"

"I have a legitimate reason, believe it or not." Floyd sat down next to Arthur. "Can I ask you a question?"

Arthur nodded. "Fire away."

The other medic ran a hand through his hair. "This is going to sound incredibly stupid, but… MacPherson."

"What about her?"

"What do you think of her?"

Arthur smirked. "She's stubborn, spiteful, and ruthlessly ambitious. But she's also brave, kindhearted, and determined. Why?"

"Just wondering." Floyd sighed. "You know, you may think she's the spawn of the devil-"

"Correction, devil incarnate."

"Whatever you like. Anyways, she may be stubborn and all that, but… I can't help but feel like, you know, she and I might actually make a good pair."

Arthur smiled, staring into his mug. "Well, I've always said it would take one bloody strong-willed woman to keep you in line."

The other medic's eyes lit up. "So you think it'd work?"

"Go for it. I know she thinks you're good-looking, and she knows you're smart, which are things she looks for in a man."

"Thanks, Art. I know she's sort of like a sister to you, so I wanted your approval."

Arthur laughed. "Don't tell her you asked my permission, or she'll have both of our heads on a silver platter."

Floyd nodded. "Understood. Well, wish me luck! I'll try not to make a fool of myself this time." He was about to leave when he spun around on his heel. "You know, I can tell there's someone you fancy. Don't be shy about it, all right? Tell them before you get shipped off somewhere, or you'll never get the chance."

Arthur nodded. "I will. Don't worry."

The other medic smiled nervously at him and quickly fixed his hair. "How do I look?"

"Like a nervous school boy about to ask a girl to go on a date."

"Thanks." Floyd rolled his eyes. "At least I can trust you to be honest with me. Well, here goes nothing and everything, at the same time!" He left, grinning.

Arthur shook his head slowly back and forth, sighing. _Could I ever pluck up the courage to do something like that?_ His shoulders slumped. _Probably not. Well, I'm Arthur bloody Kirkland, and I'll be damned if some soldier makes a babbling idiot out of me!_

He finished his water and returned to where he had left Alfred. The American smiled up at him. "Hey! That must've been a fucking huge glass of water."

"Not really. I was giving a friend advice."

"What, medical advice?"

"If you call love an illness, then yes, medical advice."

"Ooh… Arthur the matchmaker!"

The Brit snorted. "Hardly. More like 'Arthur, the man who is completely incompetent in his own love life but who gives good advice to others.' At least they can learn from my mistakes."

Alfred smirked. "I have no mistakes to learn from. 'Course, that's because I've never really had a love life."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "What, so are you really a complete virgin?"

The American looked up at him coolly, and imitated Arthur's accent. "I am not going to answer that."

The medic glared at him. "I do not sound like that."

"Close enough. Hey, let's head back. I'm getting tired."

The two walked back to the room, and Arthur sat down in his chair with a sigh. Alfred jumped onto the bed, and lay down with his arms crossed behind his head.

He turned slightly towards Arthur. "You ever try doing an American accent?"

The Brit shook his head. "No, and if I tried it would probably just sound like a bad imitation of your voice. You're the American I know best in the world, to be honest."

"Aw, really?"

"Yes, actually. And why are you looking at me like that?"

"Oh, it's nothing."

Arthur pointed at him, emerald eyes narrowed. "Don't get any mushy thoughts in your head, you!"

Alfred sat up, grinning at him. "C'mon, that's really cute!"

"I am not cute, dammit! And what do you think you're doing?"

Alfred had stood up and was walking towards him. The medic jumped up and stood behind the chair. "I swear, if you try to hug me, I'll-"

"Nope! You're getting a hug, whether you want one or not."

"I absolutely do _not_ want a hug. Stay away from me, you crazy Yank!"

Alfred rolled his eyes and ignored Arthur's protests, pulling him into a hug. "There we go. Now, hug me back and I'll let you go, since I know how much you value your personal space."

"Never!"

"All right, I can wait. But I'm not letting go."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Fine with me."

He stayed true to his word of refusing to embrace Alfred, but the soldier stayed true to his word of not letting go, and Arthur became increasingly aware of the young man's body pressed against his own. He closed his eyes, pretending he wasn't leaning against the young soldier's warm, solid body.

"You smell like soap," he murmured.

"And you smell like tea. How do you even manage that?"

"I bathe in it on a daily basis. What do you think?"

"I dunno."

Arthur continued to stand stock-still, wrapped in the American's arms. The soldier sighed. "Can you just hurry up and give in already? My arms are getting tired."

"No, I'm perfectly content to stand here for the rest of the evening."

"Well, I'm not. So hurry up and hug me, or I'll squeeze you."

Arthur glared up at Alfred. "Don't even think about it, biceps-for-brains. I have no desire to have my ribs cracked."

"Aw, but I'd take care of you!"

"That gives me even more incentive to not get squeezed, thank you very much." Arthur found himself getting rather anxious and hot-faced because of the proximity of the American's body to his own. He sighed. "All right, all right. You win, I'll give you a bloody hug!"

_But only because I don't want to embarrass myself._

"Yay! Now, just put your arms around me and-"

"I know how to give a hug, you bloody idiot!" He wrapped his arms around Alfred's waist and squeezed gently, laying his head on the sergeant's shoulder. "There." He let go, and the American released his hold on Arthur as well. The Brit was pleased, but oddly disappointed at the same time. He cleared his throat and stared at his shoes, willing himself not to blush. "You got your hug. Happy now?"

Alfred was smiling at him. "Very. Hey, about my leg-"

"You're almost ready to fight again."

Alfred's eyebrows went up. "Really?"

"Yes, really. I'd just like to wait another week or so before signing off on your recovery sheet, just to make sure everything's all right. We also have to make sure you can sleep outside comfortably, since wherever you and your men set up camp is unlikely to have beds."

"So, we'll finally hike up to the beaches?"

Arthur nodded. "Most likely. If you do well with that, then you're free to go."

"Oh." Alfred smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, which looked almost sad. "I see. That's a good thing, right?"

Arthur shrugged. "I suppose. They'll send you off to fight, and send me to help on the front lines again. More dangerous for both of us, but less tedious."

The American looked insulted. "What, so you think I'm boring?"

The Brit shook his head. "Not in the least. Quite the opposite, you're the only thing that's stopped me from going insane these past couple months." He fiddled with his coat fastenings, staring out the window. "It's… getting late. I should get going soon."

Alfred nodded. "Yeah. Tuck me in first, will ya?"

Arthur smiled. It had become somewhat of a routine over the past month. "Of course. Right, into bed with you, Jones."

He pulled the bedsheets over the man's body, took Alfred's glasses off his face, and set them on the bedside table. "Do you want a story tonight as well?"

"As long as it has a happy ending."

"I'll see what I can do."

Arthur sat down, stroking his chin pensively. He cleared his throat, and began. "This is a tale of where the stars come from. On a magical, misty island, very far away from here, there is a pond of beautiful water lilies. These lilies are special, they open and close with the rising and setting of the sun. Every morning, when they open at sunrise, a cloud of thousands, millions, billions of little fairies flies out. During the day, these fairies just frolic and play with each other, but these fairies are also special. When the sun sets, they fly up into the sky and become the stars we see at night. Each night, they appear in a slightly different place, which is why the stars seem to move across the sky. They all fly away when morning comes, however, and join the big band of stars we call the Milky Way. We can't see them during the day, though, because the brilliant light of the sun outshines their delicate, twinkling fairy light, even when there's such a big group of them gathered together.

"Nobody knows where the lilies and fairies came from, or why they give us the stars, but they've done so since the beginning of time itself. Maybe someday you'll be lucky enough to see a fairy that's in the wrong spot, who shoots across the sky very quickly to get to its proper place. Maybe, if you look very carefully, you'll see all the fairies appear one by one, popping up in the sky like magic, until all you see is a sky blanketed by twinkling lights. And maybe, just maybe, you'll find a way to catch one of the stars, one of the fairies, to keep it as your own little light, a light to give you hope and happiness during the darkest times." He finished the story, gazing out at the small patch of stars visible through the small window.

Alfred smiled up at him sleepily. "That was really nice. You'll make a good storyteller for your nieces and nephews someday."

Arthur blushed a bit at the compliment. "Thank you. Now go to sleep, Alfred."

"All right. G'night, Artie."

Arthur smiled. "Good night, sleep tight, and sweet dreams." He stood up and brushed the hair out of Alfred's eyes. "I'll see you in the morning."

On an impulse, he leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on the young man's cheek. Alfred's eyes widened, but he didn't say anything. Arthur left, closing the door quietly behind him.

_That's as close to a confession I can give right now. I hope it's enough._

He sighed, closing his eyes and leaning against the wall. Arthur smiled to himself.

_I think it's enough._

End Ch. 4


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello everyone! It's been a while, eh? But I give you Ch. 5! Now, this chapter is full of fluff. And goodbyes, but mostly fluff. To everyone who has reviewed: you guys are the best.**

* * *

August 3rd, 1944.

"Torch?"

"If you mean flashlight, then check."

"Matches?"

"Check."

"Tent, sleeping bags, water, food?"

"Check, check, check, and… check!"

"All right, I think that's everything." Arthur hoisted a pack over his shoulders. "I'm carrying my supplies, but you get everything else."

"Aw…"

"No complaining."

"I know, I know. It's just heavy!"

Alfred picked up his own pack. Both men were dressed in their outdoor attire, Arthur in his uniform for medics on the battlefield, and Alfred in his fatigues. They had decided to not wear helmets, since they both agreed that was unnecessary and silly-looking.

They were just leaving the hospital, prepared for a hike to the beaches near where they had first landed. Arthur let Alfred, with his heavier load, set the pace.

"Once we get there, we should set up camp before looking around. I don't recommend putting the tent on the sand, by the way."

"I know, sand gets everywhere if you give it a chance."

Arthur fumbled with a map and compass. "Are we going the right way…?"

"You tell me, Mr. Expert map reader."

"Oh, hush. I think we're on the right track. If in an hour or so, we don't find a river, then we're buggered. We're supposed to follow it up to the beach."

"Okay, look for a river. Gotcha."

Thankfully, they were on the right track after all, and found their way to the beach with minimal difficulty. They dropped their supplies off about a hundred meters away from the sand.

Arthur looked around and nodded. "This should do just fine. You remembered a tarp, yes?"

"Of course I did. I want to wake up with a wet sleeping bag just as much as you do."

"Good. Well, let's set up the tent."

"I'll warn you now, it's smaller than you think."

Arthur frowned. "It says 'two-person' right here on the side."

"Yeah, but they mean two kids, really."

After setting the tent up and crawling inside to investigate, Arthur found that the young sergeant wasn't exaggerating. "This is positively miniscule! How do they expect two fully-grown men to fit in here comfortably?"

Alfred answered from outside with a laugh. "They don't! We're gonna be packed in there like sardines."

Arthur crawled out of the tent. "Lovely. There goes my personal space."

Alfred helped him to his feet. "Yep! We'll figure that out at bedtime. Right now, I want to go look at those cliffs."

He marched off, leaving Arthur to dump their packs into the tent and zip it up. "Oy, wait up! You are _not_ going rock climbing, do you hear me?"

"Don't worry, I just want to see how tall they are."

The cliffs were actually quite a bit farther off than either man had anticipated, so by the time they got back it was close to dinnertime. Arthur fished cooking utensils and food out of Alfred's bag, and glared suspiciously at them.

"I'll warn you now, I haven't cooked since I left Bristol. I don't suppose you're harbouring a secret talent for cooking…?"

Alfred shook his head. "Not this kind of food. I make sandwiches, burgers, stuff like that."

"Marvelous. Well, I apologize in advance for the food."

He ended up making a stew over the fire out of the rations he had packed. Arthur served it in two small bowls and passed a slice of bread to Alfred. The two ate in silence, occasional snaps and pops from the fire keeping the beach from being eerily quiet.

When they had finished, they rinsed out their dishes, packed them away, and sat down facing the ocean.

"You know, that wasn't as bad as I thought it would be."

"Thank you… I think." Arthur looked over the beach. "Do you remember where exactly we landed?"

"Not really… they've cleaned up a lot, and this part of the beach is pretty remote."

"Yes, it is. I'm glad it seems as though this part of the world hasn't been touched by the war."

Alfred turned to look at Arthur. "You talk like you've seen a lot destroyed."

"I was in London during the Blitz. It's a time I prefer not to dwell on."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"No, you didn't know." Arthur sighed and brushed his hair out of his face. "It was quite some time ago, really, and lately I've been able to focus much more on the present. It's quite a relief."

"Yeah, I see what you mean." Alfred looked back over the ocean. "Sun's going down."

"So it is."

"Is there a spot you can see the sun rise over the ocean from?"

Arthur glanced around. "At this time of year, maybe. The beach might curve just enough over there." He pointed to a stretch of sand not too far away.

"Good."

"Why, though?"

Alfred shrugged. "Just something I want to see before I die. The sun rising over the sea… it's kinda sappy, I know, but who knows how much longer I have, right?" Arthur glanced over at him, confused. "You said I'll be back to fighting pretty soon," the soldier clarified. "I don't want to die with any regrets."

Arthur nodded, then swallowed. "You've got a point. Who knows what'll happen once we're back out there? Some idiot's grenade could finally blow me up, you could get picked off by a sniper, anything could happen."

Alfred winced. "Let's not talk about that, 'kay?"

The Brit glanced over at him, and seeing his eyes downcast, nodded. "Sorry. I'm thoughtless like that sometimes."

The soldier shook his head. "It's not that. I just…" he sighed. "I'm not ready to die yet."

Arthur scooted closer to Alfred and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "No one fighting in this war is. Don't worry about it."

"Yeah, I know." Alfred smiled. "Hey, do you think we could stay up and watch the stars? I haven't been able to do that in a really long time."

Arthur shrugged. "I don't see any reason not to, as long as you'll let me drag you out of bed before sunrise."

"Sounds good to me."

They watched the sun set, the red and gold of the sky lending the water an interesting hue. Arthur smiled. "Red sky at night, shepherd's delight. We're in for some good weather."

"I always thought that 'sailor's delight' was how it went…"

"No, you Americans just stole our expression."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Thanks."

Arthur shrugged. "It's true. Nothing personal, of course."

"Sure. Hey, there's the first star!"

"That's not a star, that's Venus, and that's a planet."

"No, it's a twinkling fairy."

Alfred grinned at Arthur, who shoved him playfully. "Git. And I was hoping you were too sleepy to listen to my ramblings."

"I thought it was a cute story, actually. And did you know you get this little smile on your face whenever you talk about princes and fairies and magic?"

The Brit blushed. "No, I was not aware of that." He sighed. "I've always loved the world of fantasy, though. I used to tell my little cousins fairytales and other fanciful stories. Of course, none of them have met their Prince Charming or knight in shining armour yet."

"Have you?"

"That depends on your definition of 'charming' or 'shining armour', really."

Alfred smirked. "I'll take that as an 'I'm not telling you' kind of answer."

Arthur looked up at the sky. "Maybe, maybe not. Now _there's _the first real star."

"Why does it look bluish?"

"Because it's sad. You think I know?"

"No, but you don't have to be so sarcastic."

Arthur lay on his back, staring up at the sky. "Sarcasm is a defense mechanism against stupidity."

"Ouch, that's harsh. But you know, two can play at that game, Prince Not-so-charming." Alfred lay down next to Arthur.

The Brit glanced over at him, and upon seeing that he was kidding, glared. "You should be more mindful of people's feelings, Alfred."

"Says the man who called me a lumbering oaf less than twelve hours ago."

Arthur frowned. "I said that out loud?"

"Yes, you did."

"Bugger. I need to keep a closer eye on my verbal filter."

"Hey, look!"

"What is it?"

"You can see the Milky Way! And that constellation over there, that's Orion."

"The hunter. That's actually my favourite constellation."

Alfred smiled. "Mine too. I have freckles on my arm in the shape of Orion, so that's why."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. You have a skin-deep connection to the stars."

They continued stargazing, watching the stars appear one by one. A shooting star shot across the sky. Alfred's eyes grew wide. "Did you see that?"

"I did. Make a wish, lad."

Arthur closed his eyes as he made his wish. A moment later he felt Alfred tug on his sleeve. "No sleeping, Artie. If you're tired, we can go to bed now."

"That's probably a good idea."

He stood up, helped Alfred to his feet, and looked around. The coals in the fire were still hot, and glowed orange, illuminating the area around the fire with a soft light. Arthur walked over to put it out, when he noticed something.

"Alfred, look out into the grass."

In the area still lit by the fire were dozens of tiny, gleaming lights.

"What are those?"

"Eyes."

The eyes of the bugs in the grass were reflecting the light of the fire, glowing like stars against the black backdrop of the grass. When Arthur stomped on the fire, putting it out, they all vanished and left the young men under the canopy of the stars.

"Wow."

"I know."

They stood outside for a few more minutes, just admiring the night sky. Alfred sighed. "Seriously, though, we should go to bed."

"Right."

They squeezed themselves into the tent, taking their shoes off by the light of the flashlight. Arthur stripped off his shirt and pants, placing them under his boots. He crawled into his sleeping bag and faced away from Alfred, giving him some privacy as he undressed.

He heard Alfred settle into his sleeping bag with a sigh. "What, no bedtime story?"

Arthur wiggled around, cursing under his breath as he tried to turn over. When he succeeded, he glared at Alfred. "Only if you cease that giggling."

"You look like an angry caterpillar!"

"Oh, shut up." Arthur rolled his eyes.

Alfred nodded and stopped giggling, so Arthur began thinking of a story to tell. "Um… let me think for a moment." He nodded. "This'll do just fine. Once upon a time, there was a prince cursed by an evil witch, and he was turned into a-"

"Lemme guess, a frog!"

"No, a mouse."

"Oh?"

"This isn't the story you know. Now be quiet and listen." He cleared his throat. "The prince-mouse had only one way to break the spell: he had to find someone truly pure of heart to take care of him, only then would he revert to his true form. He couldn't speak, couldn't communicate in any way with human beings, so he didn't have much hope. But still, he traveled his kingdom, looking for someone who could break his curse. Everywhere he went, people chased him away, screamed at him, and set their cats on him.

"The prince, tired, weak, and hungry, took refuge in an orphanage one cold, rainy night, hoping to go unnoticed. But a little girl spied him and called the orphanage mistress over. The poor young woman was tired and ill, so she just asked one of the boys to do something about the mouse. The boy who picked the mouse up saw how weak and frail it was, and took the prince to his bedroom. The prince, fearing the worst, tried to find the strength to escape. To his surprise, the little boy pulled a stale piece of bread out of his pocket, and fed it crumb by crumb to the little mouse.

"Suddenly, there was a flash of light, and in the mouse's place was a dazzlingly handsome young man. The prince was cured of his curse, thanks to that young boy. To show his gratitude, he helped fix up the orphanage into a much more hospitable place. He fell madly in love with the young woman who ran the place, so he married her, adopted the boy who saved him, and they all lived happily ever. The end."

Alfred smiled, nodding off. "Happy endings are nice."

"Yes, but they only happen in fairytales."

The young American blinked sleepily at Arthur. "Only if you believe that. Believe in happy endings, and you'll get one." He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Arthur sighed and shook his head. _Still so young and optimistic… at least he's happy._ He lay his head down, and fell asleep quickly.

…

August 4th, 1944.

Arthur cracked one eye open, seeing that it was still dark outside, but that the sky was lightening. He sat up and redressed, shaking his clothes outside the tent to get rid of any sand. He crawled back into the tent and gently shook Alfred awake.

The American opened his eyes blearily. "Whaa-?"

"Time to get up, if you want to see the sunrise."

"Oh, okay." He yawned. "Got any water? I'm kinda thirsty."

Arthur passed him a canteen. "Drink up and get dressed. I'll wait outside."

A moment later, Alfred emerged from the tent, dressed and fully awake. "Ready! Let's go."

They set off along the beach, following the curve of the shore until they could see the horizon in the east.

"Is here all right?"

"I think so. Wait a moment, there's a better spot over there." Arthur grabbed Alfred's hand and dragged him to an outcrop of sand that looked over the ocean perfectly.

It wasn't long after they got there that the very first sliver of the sun appeared over the water. The medic and the soldier stared at it, entranced.

Alfred smiled. "It really is as beautiful as I thought."

The sky lit up pink and orange, which reflected off the water, turning it into a shimmering sea of colours. Arthur sighed, relaxing as he saw the sky lighten, sunrays giving the clouds a golden lining. He realized he was still holding Alfred's hand, and went to pull his hand away.

Just then, the young soldier squeezed his hand lightly and intertwined their fingers. Arthur's breath caught in his throat, and he cast a quick glance at Alfred. The young man was just smiling serenely, staring out over the water.

Arthur squeezed his hand back, and the American turned to look at him. His blue eyes softened, and he brought his free hand up to cup Arthur's cheek. Alfred leaned in, almost brushing their lips together, but hesitated, less than an inch away from Arthur's face.

The medic closed the gap himself, closing his eyes and gently pressing his lips against Alfred's. His lips were every bit as warm, soft, and wonderful as Arthur had dared imagine. He placed his own free hand on the back of Alfred's neck.

When they broke apart, Alfred had a dreamy expression in his eyes. He let go of Arthur's hand and pulled the smaller man close, cupping his face in both hands and kissing him again. Arthur put his hands on Alfred's shoulders and leaned into the embrace.

He deepened the kiss, moving his lips desperately against Alfred's. The soldier groaned softly against Arthur's mouth and broke away for air. The two men leaned their heads together, searching each other's eyes. Arthur was sure his were on the verge of filling with tears, but Alfred's eyes were just full of happiness.

Alfred tilted his head up and placed a kiss on Arthur's nose. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."

Whether he was talking about the kiss on the nose or the other kisses, Arthur wasn't sure, and he honestly didn't care. He just sighed happily and leaned against the American's chest.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Everything." He looked up at Alfred and smiled.

The sun finished rising, so the two men started walking back to the tent, holding hands. They didn't speak, just let the waves crashing on the beach do the talking for them.

They ate a quick breakfast and began packing up, rather reluctantly. They headed back to the hospital, chatting lightly. Luckily, it was lunchtime when they got back, so they stopped by the mess hall to get something to eat.

They sat down by Francis and Matthew. The Frenchman immediately struck up a conversation, but Matthew just looked between the two men and smiled knowingly. He pulled Arthur aside after lunch, telling Alfred and Francis that it was about something medical.

But when they were alone, he smiled at Arthur. "Finally. It was about time, eh?"

"Yes, yes, now quit your squawking. What about you?"

Matthew blushed and stared at his shoes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on, Matthew."

"All right, all right." He sighed. "I suck at emotional confessions. I just babble like an idiot and say the wrong things."

"Then don't say anything."

"But that'll never-"

Arthur interrupted him. "_Show _something. _Do _something. Just don't _say _anything and you won't sound like an idiot."

"Okay… but what do I do? I've never asked someone on a date, let alone showed someone that I love– um, have feelings for them."

"Do what comes naturally to you."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "All right, I'll stutter and act like an idiot more than usual. That's bound to get his attention, eh?"

Arthur smirked. "Now you're thinking. Good luck."

"Yeah. I'm going to need it."

They headed back to the table, where Francis and Alfred immediately stopped their hushed conversation.

"And what were you two talking about?"

"Military affairs," said Francis breezily, winking at Alfred. "Nothing you would understand, _mes amis_."

The sergeant nodded. "Yep military stuff. Well, Arthur, we'd better get cleaned up now. I don't know about you, but I'm tired of feeling sand in between my toes. See ya later Matt, Francis!"

The soldier and the medic left. Once they were out of earshot, Arthur murmured to Alfred, "You weren't discussing military affairs, were you?"

"Nope, but Matt doesn't need to know that."

"I see. Well, I'm going to bathe and change my clothes. Do you want hospital attire or your regular clothes?"

"Hospital clothes. They're more comfortable to sleep in. Bring 'em by once you're done, 'kay? I'll wash myself today." He smiled suddenly. "Hey, I just thought of something!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Whenever you start thinking, I always end up either doing something that'll get me in trouble, or doing something I don't want to."

"Not this time, trust me."

The Brit raised an eyebrow. "Oh really? Well, fire away. If it's a terrible idea, I'll let you know."

Alfred just grinned. "Now you don't have an excuse not to kiss me goodnight."

Arthur blushed and stuttered, "T-that's…"

"Well, see ya in a few!" The soldier turned down the hallway to his room, waving to Arthur.

The medic just shook his head and continued on his way. "Bloody Yanks."

…

August 5th, 1944.

A piece of paper sat on the bedside table, and neither Alfred nor Arthur wanted to look at it.

"Just sign it already!"

"I need your consent first."

"And if I don't give my consent?"

"Then I can't sign it and you stay in the hospital."

"Okay. Don't sign it."

"Alfred, why the hell not? We both know you're fully recovered and ready to start fighting again."

"I know that." The American sighed. "I just… I know I have to do my part for my country, but a big part of me wants to just stay here with you forever."

"Don't be ridiculous."

Alfred looked hurt. "What do you-"

"We'd go crazy cooped up here. There's only so much time men like us can stay in a hospital without going mad. Besides, you need to go fight and I need to get back to helping those who really need me."

"But _I _need you."

"I know. That's another reason I have to sign this."

"That's-"

"It will give you something real to fight for. You know damn well that if you don't come back alive, I'll kill you." Arthur picked up a pen. "Now. Do I have your permission?"

"I guess."

Arthur scribbled his signature onto the piece of paper. "There. That's done. After I turn this in to my superiours, it will still be a few days before they send you east."

"What'll happen to you?"

"I'm not sure. They'll find somewhere to send me. I just hope it's nowhere near Italy."

Alfred looked down at his feet. "Right. If—I mean, when we both make it, how'll I find you?"

Arthur took the American's hand. "We'll stay in touch during the war, don't worry. We can send letters, remember? You keep me updated on where you're moving to, and write me when you get there. I'll do the same for you."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Good." Alfred leaned his forehead against Arthur's. "I'm gonna miss you, Artie."

"Let's not say our goodbyes just yet. We have a few days left."

"Then what should we do?"

Arthur sighed. "Call me a hopeless romantic, but…"

"Go on."

He moved to sit on the bed next to Alfred. "It'll be a long time before I see you again. I want to make sure you'll remember me."

"Of course I'll remember you."

"I know, but…" He leaned in, gently kissing Alfred. He moved his hands to rest on the American's hips.

Alfred pulled back from the kiss. "Oh," he said, "You mean _that _kind of remember."

"Do you want-"

"Of course I do. I've wanted to for a long time."

He wrapped his arms around Arthur's waist and gently leaned back, pulling Arthur down onto the bed with him. The medic fumbled with his coat fastenings before tossing it onto the floor and coiling his arms around Alfred's neck. He pulled the American into another kiss, deeper this time, and let out a whisper of a groan when Alfred brought their hips together and slowly rutted against him.

He placed a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses along Alfred's jaw and down his neck, smiling against his skin when he felt Alfred shiver slightly.

"You all right there, love?"

"Better than all right."

They'd done this much before, kissing until they were both breathless and starry-eyed, but never going further. So when Alfred undid the button on Arthur's pants and pulled the zipper down, he then froze. "Is this too much?"

Arthur nuzzled against Alfred's neck, murmuring, "Quite the contrary. It's nowhere near enough."

He heard Alfred chuckle, but before he could say anything, his breath caught in his throat. Alfred had slipped his hand down the front of Arthur's trousers and was slowly palming him. The Brit bit his lip and let his eyes flutter shut.

He pulled Alfred's pants down, and his eyes flew open. He'd forgotten that the American wasn't wearing underclothes. Arthur glanced down quickly and blushed. Alfred was hard, fully exposed, and not in the least embarrassed about it. Or if he was, he didn't show it, instead laughing quietly.

"Like what you see?"

Arthur felt himself redden further, but ignored his embarrassment and wrapped a hand around Alfred's hardness, causing another small shiver to go down his spine. The hand Alfred had slipped into his pants gripped Arthur more tightly, and he bit a lip to stifle a moan.

"Don't do that." Alfred tilted Arthur's chin up slightly with his free hand. "I want to hear you."

"But someone else could-"

"You locked the door, right?" Arthur nodded. "Then we're all right."

Maybe to emphasize his point, maybe just because he felt like it, Alfred pulled Arthur's pants and underclothes down, grabbed his hips, and pulled him closer so their arousals brushed. He wrapped a hand around Arthur and gently stroked him, blue eyes full of lust—no, full of love.

Arthur, somehow encouraged by what he saw in Alfred's eyes, started stroking Alfred in return. They worked each other closer to the edge, breathing heavily and moaning softly. Lips parted, mouths almost touching, Arthur could feel Alfred's breath against his lips.

He was close, and Alfred's hand was so warm, and it had been so long, and he felt like he was slowly going out of his mind with pleasure. _I love this man, _he thought to himself,_ I love him so much. I can't say it though, not yet. I just can't._

His thoughts were cut short, however, as he inevitably reached his end. "Al, I'm-"

"I know… me too."

Alfred shuddered and let out a quiet moan, and Arthur felt a rush of warmth against his hand. In the end, it was Alfred's face, his _lover's_ face, Arthur realized with a jolt, that sent him over the proverbial edge. His flushed cheeks, the sheen of sweat on his forehead, and those beautiful, beautiful eyes.

When he recovered from the bliss that washed over him, he noticed Alfred was whispering something against his lips. "I love you," he was murmuring, over and over again. Arthur closed the gap between them, silencing the soldier. _I know, and I love you too. I just can't say it. It'll hurt too much if I lose you._ Arthur tried to convey that to him through the kiss, running his clean hand through Alfred's soft hair.

Alfred's eyes were still slightly open, the bright blue colour shining through his lashes. Arthur closed his eyes as they started welling up with tears.

_Even if I don't say it, if I lose you, it will hurt too much. If I lose you, I don't know what I'll do._

…

August 8th, 1944.

Alfred was reading a piece of paper when Arthur came in with his breakfast. The look on the sergeant's face told Arthur it wasn't good news.

"They… they're sending me East tomorrow."

Arthur put the tray down heavily and closed his eyes. "How early?"

"I'll be leaving with a few other soldiers to join the rest of the platoon tomorrow morning, probably before dawn. The French Resistance will be escorting us."

The medic sighed. "So soon…"

"I know. I don't want to leave you here."

"I won't be here for long."

"True."

Arthur smiled sadly. "I suppose we'll be saying goodbye soon, then."

"Yeah." The American stared at the paper. "It says my platoon will be a part of the force that's supposed to liberate Paris. I guess I'll be seeing a lot of Francis after all."

"And I'll be seeing a lot of Matthew. He and I have been assigned to the same regiment."

Alfred sighed. "I wish it was the other way around. Speaking of them, do you know if-"

"No, Matthew's a bloody coward and won't admit a thing to Francis, who is surprisingly _not_ forcing himself on Matthew."

"Oh. That's too bad. The not admitting part, not the other part."

Arthur smiled and shrugged. "They'll find a way. So will we." He stared at his feet. "By the way, how did you guess?"

"Guess?"

"My feelings for you."

"Oh, that." Alfred smirked. "Well, if a British guy kisses you on the cheek when he's sober, it's a sign he's got more than just 'brotherly love' on his mind."

Arthur chuckled. "I suppose."

"Yeah, but I figured it out before that. C'mon, you weren't exactly the most subtle person in the world, Arthur oh-I-wasn't-staring-at-your-ass Kirkland."

Arthur blushed. "I thought I was pretty discreet."

"You weren't, trust me." Alfred leaned over and squeezed Arthur's hand. "But don't worry, I think it's cute."

"For the last time, dammit, I am not cute!"

"Whatever you say." He sighed. "You know, even if you're funny when you get frustrated, I don't want to spend our last day together bickering."

"Right. How do you want to spend it, then?"

Alfred shrugged. "I dunno. I just want to talk with you. Not argue, just talk."

Arthur nodded. "All right, we can do that. Now eat your breakfast."

"But it's gross!"

"I know, but you still ought to eat it."

The familiar conversation brought comfort to both men, and they smiled at each other.

They spent the day talking, as Alfred wanted. After dinner, the two sat on the bed, just staring at the floor.

"So…"

"Yeah."

"I should get to bed soon."

"I know."

"I don't want to."

"I know."

"You're saying 'I know' an awful lot, aren't you?"

"I know."

Arthur sighed. "Alfred, if you want something, just ask. I've told you before, I can't help you if I don't know what you want and-"

The soldier pulled him into a hug. "I want to hold you."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I more or less figured that out, judging by the way you're trying to squeeze the air out of my lungs."

"Sorry."

Arthur wrapped his arms around the American. "You know what? I honestly don't mind one bit."

Alfred lay his head on Arthur's shoulder. "I… I'll miss you."

"As I'll miss you. Buck up a bit there, chap." He stroked the back of his lover's head. "It won't be that long until we see each other again."

"You don't know that. I could… you could-"

"Shh. Calm down. Just remember that if you die, I'll kill you."

Alfred sighed. "Yeah. You'll write to me, won't you?"

"As soon as I get a letter from you, I'll reply."

"Okay."

Arthur let out a shaky breath. "Do you want me to drop by tomorrow morning before you go?"

"Only if you want to."

The Brit smiled, knowing what Alfred meant. "I'll be here, don't worry." Arthur released the American and tilted his chin up with one hand. "Come on now, go off with that kind of face and you're doomed before you start."

"Right." Alfred forced a smile.

Arthur shook his head. "No, no. I want to see you smile for real."

"But I'm not happy."

The medic rolled his eyes and kissed Alfred on the nose. "There. Now be happy."

The soldier smiled, a real smile this time, though it was still slightly hesitant.

"There we go, much better." Arthur checked his watch. "Shit, my shift ended twenty minutes ago."

Alfred's face fell. "You… you'd better go."

"Yes, but before I do…" Arthur leaned in and kissed Alfred, just gently pressing their lips together. When they broke apart, Arthur's eyes were on the verge of brimming with tears, knowing that was the last kiss they would share for a long time, perhaps even for the rest of their lives. "Good night, love."

"Goodnight, Artie. I'll see you in the morning."

"That you will, I promise." He squeezed Alfred's hand gently, stood up, and left the room. Arthur walked down the hallway to his quarters, feeling his heart sink with every step.

…

August 9th, 1944.

Arthur ran down a hallway, cursing under his breath as he pulled on his coat. He rounded a corner and skidded to a halt, brushing his hair out of his eyes and straightening his uniform. A squadron of infantry soldiers stood there, fully dressed for travelling, and Alfred was among them.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Ahem. Sergeant Jones?"

Alfred looked up from whatever he was doing and his face lit up. "Arthur! Hi!"

"Good morning. Come here for a moment, will you?"

The soldier nodded. "Just a minute, guys." He walked over to Arthur. "And I thought you wouldn't make it."

"Oh, hush up. My alarm didn't go off. But a promise is a promise, so here I am. Anyways, I wanted to tell you to be careful out there. Don't push yourself too hard, you hear me? It's rough being on the front lines. Now, I want you to write to me concerning your injury, understood?"

Alfred nodded, smiling at Arthur. "Sure thing. Let me know that you're actually getting my letters, okay?"

"Of course. Now," he clapped Alfred on the shoulder, "Be strong, stay safe, and come back in one piece, you hear me?"

"Loud and clear, Mr. Kirkland."

He shook Arthur's hand, squeezing a little too tenderly for a normal handshake.

"Goodbye, Alfred."

"See you later, Arthur."

The men smiled at each other before turning around and going their separate ways.

"Wow," one of the soldiers remarked, "You got a good medic. Mine didn't give a rat's ass whether or not I made it home safe."

"That's what makes Arthur one of the best. He cares."

The medic smiled to himself, turning around a corner and away from Alfred. He promptly bumped into Matthew, who apologized quickly. "Oh, sorry, I—Arthur! Thank god. You have to help me find Francis!"

"Whatever for?"

"I need to… just… gah!" Matthew threw his hands in the air. "No questions, just help!"

Arthur shook his head and followed the Canadian. "You know, honestly, you have a better idea of where he'd be than me."

Luckily for them, they ran into Francis and his troupe of Resistance members. Matthew grabbed Francis by the wrist. "There you are!" He turned to the other men and women. "_Excusez-moi, messieurs-dames._ Francis, come with me."

"_Petit lapin_, I don't see what-"

"Hush." Matthew dragged him around a corner, cheeks scarlet.

Arthur glanced after them, just in time to see Matthew grab Francis' face in his hands and kiss him earnestly. The Frenchman was obviously taken aback, but kissed back.

Arthur turned back to the Resistance members who looked at him as though expecting an answer. The Brit just shrugged and looked over at Matthew again.

He and Francis had broken their kiss, but Matthew still cupped the other man's face in his hands, a fierce look in his usually docile eyes. "Don't die on me, Francis. I'll never forgive you if you do."

"But, Matthew-"

"Shh… _je t'aime_. I wanted to say it earlier, but…" the Canadian sighed.

Francis just smiled and brushed Matthew's hair out of his eyes. "I understand. _Je t'aime aussi, mon cheri._ Be safe. Be careful."

They embraced briefly before Francis nodded and turned away, walking back to his countrymen. He cleared his throat, but his voice was still thick with emotion. "_Bon, allons-y. On ne peut pas perdre plus de temps._" He nodded at Arthur before leaving.

The Brit returned his nod and turned away, looking back at Matthew. He walked over to the Canadian and clapped him on the back. "Well done."

"You think? I know it was rushed and all, but I-"

"Don't babble, it'll just make you doubt yourself. You did exactly what you should have."

The young man smiled hesitantly. "Thanks. Should we go? I didn't get a chance to eat breakfast."

"Neither did I. We may as well try to choke something down."

"Yeah, I suppose."

They walked down the hallway, both men staring at the floor as they went.

…

August 11th, 1944.

Arthur finished packing up his belongings and stood up, slinging the bag over his shoulder. He picked up his handkerchief, folded it, and placed it in his breast pocket. Matthew and Floyd were waiting outside the room for him. Arthur smiled at both of them.

Floyd sighed. "So, this is where we part ways, eh Art?"

"Temporarily, yes."

Arthur and Floyd stared down at their feet. "I… I asked MacPherson to marry me once this whole mess is over."

"She said yes?" When Floyd nodded, Arthur smiled. "I'm happy for you. Stay alive so you can marry her, you hear me?"

"I hear you. And you'd better stay alive, too. I'll need a best man, after all."

Arthur nodded. "I'd be honoured. I won't die."

He and Floyd hugged briefly. Matthew shook the other medic's hand, and Floyd left with a half-hearted wave. Arthur sighed, watching his friend's retreating figure. Matthew put an arm around his shoulders. "Come on. We should meet our new commander."

"You're right." The Brit shook the hair out of his eyes. "I'm glad you're in my unit, at least."

"So am I. And Francis and Alfred have each other for company."

"I'll be happy when I get the first letter from him."

Matthew smiled. "You know, I'm not sure if Francis will write in English, French, or both. I guess I'll find out."

A few hours later, they were sitting in the back of an armoured vehicle with several other medics and chaplains, driving east.

_Back to the battlefield… I can only hope these soldiers won't be as boneheaded as the last bunch._ He smiled wryly to himself as his thoughts drifted to one particularly boneheaded soldier. _I wonder how Alfred's doing. Hopefully he's all right. _Arthur closed his eyes. _I miss him already… it seems I'm turning sentimental earlier than I'd like._

End Ch. 5

* * *

**And that's the end of Chapter Five. The next couple chapters will mostly be letters/what's going on from Arthur's point of view. Enjoy whatever's left of your summer, or have fun back at school!**

**Translations: Excusez-moi, messieurs-dames: Pardon me, ladies and gentlemen. Je t'aime: I love you (duh). Bon, allons-y. On ne peut pas perdre plus de temps: Well, let's get going. We can't waste any more time. **

**Thank you for reading, and thank you for the feedback!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello everyone! For all of you back at school/work/whatever, I hope it's going well! Anyways, read on.**

* * *

August 18th, 1944.

_This tent, _Arthur mused to himself, _is simply miserable._

Matthew seemed to be thinking similarly. "You know, it'd be nice if it kept out water just a _bit_."

"Agreed. I'm tired of waking up damp and cold. Has the mail carrier come yet?"

Matthew stuck his head out of the tent. "He's on his way right now. Think either of us have gotten anything?"

"It'd be nice."

The two men sat on their cots, waiting anxiously. The man passing out mail stopped at their tent. "Hey, Kirkland, Williams, you've got letters!"

Arthur stood up quickly. "I'll get it." He took the letters and scanned the envelopes. "Two for you, one for me."

He passed Matthew his letters, and the Canadian smiled. "This one's from home." He opened it, started reading, and Arthur saw his eyes light up. "Molly's getting married!"

"Who?"

"My cousin. She's been like a sister to me." Matthew read further and frowned. "Mail-sorting bastards."

"What happened?"

"My mom wrote that she attached the letter to a package of cookies, and I don't see a package. They must've taken them." He sighed. "I mean, they would've been smashed up anyways, but it's the thought that counts, eh?"

Arthur nodded, opened his letter, and smiled right away.

_Dear Arthur,_

_Boy does that sound formal. Anyways, it's me, Alfred! I'm sending this on the 14__th__, so we'll see how long it takes to send letters across France. My company's being sent to Paris pretty soon, and we've been travelling with the French! I've learned how to say a few important things in French. Mostly swear words. Francis isn't quite so eloquent when he's tired. Speaking – well, writing – of being tired, I miss your bedtime stories._

Arthur smiled and rolled his eyes at this.

_Hey, I mean it! No rolling your eyes! (admit it, you did) But more importantly, I miss you. Sure, it's only been a week, but I already miss your voice. I didn't tell you this, but one of my favorite parts of your storytelling is that you talk without me interrupting you. I like it. Okay, before my tentmates notice how sappy this letter is, I'd better hurry up and finish writing. Write back soon, okay? I'll probably be on the move again by the time you get this, so it'll be a while before I get your reply. Send me a long one! I miss you lots. And since I have no idea how to end a letter properly, bye!_

_-Alfred_

_P.S. My leg doesn't hurt. Oh, and our coffee and tea rations __suck! __Are yours any better?_

Arthur shook his head slowly back and forth, smiling. Matthew was reading his second letter by then, brows scrunched up. "Can't he pick one language to write in? I mean, _really,_ Francis, I don't want to spend half an hour trying to decipher your letters."

"Then write that to him."

Matthew nodded. "I could… I guess. Maybe I will."

Arthur pulled some stationary and a pen out of his bag and began to write.

_Alfred,_

_It's nice to hear from you. Today's the 18__th__, so the time delay isn't too large. I'm sharing a tent with Matthew, which is pleasant enough, except for a few things: the tent leaks, the cots are really quite lumpy, and Matthew talks in his sleep. The last one is actually rather amusing, since he tends to mumble about maple trees and mashed potatoes, but it's still a rather dismal place to sleep. Just so you know, we don't even have tea rations right now, and the coffee is even worse than it was at the hospital. I've taken to drinking hot water with breakfast, which is also extraordinarily vile. It's hard to ruin porridge, and the cooks at the hospital were talented enough at that. These men are even worse. I've learned over the past week that it's possible to burn __and__ undercook porridge, while at the same time keeping it soupy, bland, and texture less._

_Now that I've finished bitching about the food, on to something a little more cheery. You and the rest of your army have done an excellent job of clearing out the Germans. I applaud your accomplishments! And I'm glad to hear that your leg isn't bothering you. The stitches should dissolve on their own over the next couple months, so don't worry about it._

_Matthew doesn't ask for bedtime stories, but I'll be sure to come up with plenty for the next time I see you. I miss you too, Alfred. I'm sure sending letters will help, but it's not quite the same as being there with you. Take care of yourself, all right? And while you may not receive this until after you've liberated Paris, good luck. I miss you. Wherever you go, make sure you write me when you get there._

_Be safe. _

_-Arthur._

Arthur signed the letter, folded it, and put it in an envelope. He addressed it to Alfred, noting his platoon and squadron numbers. Matthew was writing his own replies, one to his family and one to Francis. When the Canadian had finished writing the letters and addressed them properly, Arthur took them and deposited all three with the rest of the outgoing mail. When he got back to the tent, Matthew was lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling of the tent.

He smiled. "You know, I think I can fix this tent. Do you know where we can get a good tarp?"

…

August 28th, 1944.

_Vive la France! We did it, Artie! Paris is free. And luckily for everyone, Francis' bakery shop wasn't burned down or anything, so he didn't go on a killing rampage in the city. Seriously, that guy was freaking out about it. He's probably gushing about it in the letter he's writing to Matt right now. You know, Francis gets all starry-eyed and mushy whenever he talks about Matthew. It's actually kind of cute. Did I really just write that? Whatever, too late now._

_Now, let's see… writing a letter, writing a letter… oh yeah, I got promoted to First Sergeant recently. Apparently I did something heroic during the battle, or some bullshit like that. I know I said I wanted to be a hero, but I don't want to be praised for killing anyone. Everyone was saying 'congratulations' and stuff like that, but I didn't really know what to say. That's a first, isn't it? You have said I never shut up._

_Speaking of never shutting up, Eric, one of my tentmates likes to babble a lot before going to sleep. I swear, we'll all be lying there, totally exhausted, and this guy's mouth is going a million miles an hour! (what's that in kilometers per hour? Who knows) Last night, he talked about cats for at least half an hour. Fucking __cats__. Eventually Johnny (another tentmate) threatened to smother him with a pillow, so he shut up. Now don't get me wrong, Eric's a nice guy and all, but he __never__ shuts up. Like, __never__. _

_Well, it looks like this time around, I'm the one bitching. And about your leaking tent—get a tarp. Matt'll know what to do with it. And keep saving up those bedtime stories, you hear me? I want to hear every single one of them. Even the stupid sappy ones. Those are the ones I like best._

_I got a letter from home yesterday. Have you gotten any yet? You know, you never really told me much about your family… but I guess that can wait. My mom's gonna send pictures of my sister next time. I haven't seen her for a few years, and I bet she's growing up. That's kinda a scary thought._

_It's pretty hot over here, so some of the guys have stopped wearing their underpants under their pants. Ha ha, that sounds funny now that I look at it! Anyways, I wear my underwear (ha, did it again!) because otherwise it chafes way too much. Learned that the hard way, and I'm not doing it again. You know something weird? I read your entire letter in your voice as soon as I opened it. Do you do the same, or am I just crazy? Well, whatever._

_I miss you a ton! Now that we've driven the Germans past Paris, you're probably on the move. Write me once you get this, okay?_

_Miss you! _

–_Alfred._

…

_Alfred,_

_Congratulations on liberating Paris. Now, don't let any charming young French ladies sweep you off your feet – hah! – and stay vigilant. The Germans are bound to fight even more ferociously now than they did before. We fixed the tent, so sleeping is much more comfortable. No more waking up with soggy socks (a thoroughly disgusting feeling, let me tell you). _

_We have been moving further east, and I'm writing this in the back of an armoured car, so I apologise for the messy handwriting. The road is rather bumpy, as I'm sure you can guess. And Matthew keeps peeking over my shoulder at what I'm writing, even though I've told him not to. And now he read that and is being indignant. _

_Anyways, we've come across a lot of wounded men in the short time we've been on the road—the Germans are certainly doing their jobs well, and it's a wonder your army's done so well. Some of the wounded are labeled 'expectant', meaning we don't waste any time trying to save them, within a few seconds. It's sad, yes, but there are soldiers who will actually benefit from our care that need help. I'm afraid letters are going to be less frequent, since you and I are both on the move. But as the old saying goes, 'absence makes the heart grow fonder'._

_And no, I haven't received any letters from home. My family isn't as tight-knit as yours, as we haven't been in touch since I left England. Rather sad, I know, but at least I don't have to lie and tell them that everything's fine, that the war isn't just a bunch of boys shooting each other, blowing each other up, and dying. Don't lie to your family, Alfred, don't try to sugarcoat what's happening. Tell them the truth, but not to the point where the censors will black it out. On a happier note, a kind young man gave me a piece of chocolate the other day. He was an American, and said it was part of his rations he'd been saving up, and it made me wonder: have you been hoarding yours, or did you just eat it when I wasn't around? Or did they not give any to you since you were in medical care? Well, whichever it is, be honest! _

_Do take care of yourself, poppet_

Here, Arthur stopped and scratched that out before continuing,

_Alfred. I'm glad you're sensible enough to wear undergarments. Believe me, our pants aren't made of a soft, comfortable material either. Apparently after a few days of wearing nothing underneath them, they start to chafe your testicles. I'd rather not experience that, personally (Matthew did). And he just smacked me for writing that. Canadians aren't so passive-aggressive when they're tired and hungry, I've learned. And they peek over your shoulder when you write, even if you ask them not to very politely! Oh well._

_Don't die out there, you hear me? And good job being promoted. Rub it in the bastard Frog's face for me, will you? You may not think you deserve it, but you've probably done enough good acts to earn another fancy badge. Now, if only they would give out medals for compassion on the battlefield… that'll be the day. Well, I'm out of paper, so until next time!_

_Wherever you're headed, write me when you get there._

_Love _

Again, Arthur stopped writing and blacked out what he had written.

_Sincerely, Arthur._

…

September 9th, 1944.

_Hey, darlin'! It's been a while, I know, but I have an excuse. I lost my pen (whoops). That and we've been on the move a lot. We __finally__ got to our destination last night, and we were all way too tired to do anything. Two weeks of marching and driving really takes a lot out of a man, you know? I'm not allowed to tell you where we are (protocol, but I guess it makes sense), but I can say this much: we're still in France, and we're a lot further east than you are._

_And I've been saving up my chocolate. They aren't giving it out so much lately, so I have a nice little stash hidden away. It hasn't melted, unlike one of my friend's, and he had a big sticky mess in his bag. That's why I don't leave mine in the sun, even if it's started cooling down. Fall gets here pretty early, doesn't it? The nights are pretty cold nowadays._

_So, you were right about the Germans fighting harder. They've been going totally batshit crazy on us! Luckily we know how to dodge machine gun fire. And grenades. And bombs. That's part of the reason it took us so long to get here. I mean, we're pushing them back and all, but they aren't going down without a fight. _

_And fucking Eric still won't fucking shut up. He's over in his side of the tent right now, yakking about god-knows-what. Be glad Matt actually knows how to keep his mouth shut. I swear, if the stress of being shot at all the time doesn't get to me, Eric will with his never-ending babbling! I've even gone all scary drill sergeant on him, yelling and shit, and it didn't work! Gaaah! Going insane over here. _

_Anyways. Um. So yeah, my family sent me pictures the other day. My sister's growing up so fast! Man, when I see her next, I'm not gonna recognize her. How young is too young to start scaring off potential boyfriends? And I'm sorry your family hasn't been in touch with you, but hey, you've got me to ask you all the annoying questions they would! My mom's been asking all sorts of stuff, even stuff she knows damn well I'm not allowed to tell her._

_Well, that's what family's for. They bug the hell out of you, but you gotta love 'em. Kinda like you, only you're a lot less annoying. That doesn't really sound much like a compliment, but trust me, it is one. Well, I'm out of space on this piece of paper, so I'd better wrap this up. I miss you! Always remember that, okay?_

_Love (and I mean it), Alfred._

…

_Alfred, I'm glad you're safe. And I'm sorry that Eric babbles ceaselessly. Perhaps he's making up for Matthew's silence? Sometimes I forget he's in the tent with me. The only times he's loud are if he's tired, someone's mistaken him for an American, or he's been drinking (I will admit that we've had our fair share of nights sitting around and nursing a bottle of whiskey). And if __I've__ been drinking, he looks a lot like you. __That__ lead to a rather embarrassing situation, which involved a bit of a shouting match over whether or not he was you. In the end, he managed to convince me that he was indeed Matthew, not Alfred. Since then, I've been monitoring my alcohol consumption a bit better, and Matthew thanks his lucky stars I don't look a thing like Francis. He's a right baby when he has a hangover, by the way. You'd think he was some teenager with no experience drinking whatsoever!_

_Anyways, about your sister: no age is too young to start protecting her from suitors. Don't neglect her during her delicate teenage years! My brothers and I practically locked my sister in the attic once she started growing up. And now she's all grown up and has turned into a respectable young lady. Should I really be happy to know I'm almost like family to you? Maybe your family is more pleasant than mine. Our family reunions typically consisted of the adults getting drunk and ignoring all the kids who were pulling each other's hair and giving each other bloody noses. Pretty much the same as every night in my household, only on a larger scale._

_That's one of the reasons I learned to tell stories when I was young. I wasn't the oldest child, but I was the calmest (believe it or not), and that helped me learn how to subdue the others. Having your siblings make fun of you for making up stories is better than getting teeth knocked out, that's what I learned. So I suppose you can thank my crazy family for the stories I've told you._

_I'm glad you've stopped travelling for the time being. It's stressful enough waiting around for orders, let alone worrying if you'll even make it to your next destination. Our unit is slowly being split up, medics and chaplains being sent wherever is desperate for help. A lot of my colleagues have been sent to different parts of France now, and there are very few of us left who actually know each other. It's a bit of a mixed blessing: more privacy, but also less company. Well, there's nothing I can do about it. At least we're not being pestered by the French anymore._

_Speaking of which, is your platoon still travelling with the Resistance? Let me know whenever you can. Oh, and just so you know, losing your pen is __not__ a good excuse at all. In fact, it's a terrible excuse. Nice try, love. _

_Take care, and be safe._

_-Arthur._

…

The weeks crawled by, made monotonous by the constant travelling to different camps, fixing up endless numbers of wounded soldiers, and the slowly changing countryside Arthur passed through. Eventually he was split off from the rest of the group, and sent to join a platoon of eastbound soldiers. He wasn't entirely alone with them, since someone in charge had decided Matthew would be a fine person to send along with him.

By then, the fall colours were glorious, and when they were marching Arthur fell behind a bit trying to admire them.

"Oy, dreamer-boy, get your head outta the clouds!" Someone yelled over his shoulder at Arthur, causing the medic to snap back to reality.

"Right, sorry."

"There'll be plenty of time to stare at the trees after we kick the Krauts' asses, so stop spacin' out, ya hear me? Now get a move on, limey. I'm tired of naggin' ya."

The soldier had a heavy New York accent, and Arthur was sorely tempted to ask if he was Gino from the Russo family, but decided it would probably earn him a black eye. Not worth it. He kept his smart-arse remark to himself and caught up with the rest of the group. He fell in line next to Matthew, who was whistling tunelessly to himself.

"Afternoon, Matthew. Do you know what time it is?"

"Four 'o' clock."

"Is it now? I suppose asking to stop for tea wouldn't be very well-received."

Matthew smirked. "Probably not."

The man in front of Arthur looked over his shoulder. "You guys actually have tea-time? That's so weird!"

Arthur sighed. These Yanks had no cultural awareness whatsoever. "Yes, we have afternoon tea. Just like the French have their afternoon_ 'sieste'_ from noon until two."

"What's that?"

"They eat lunch and then rest up for an obscenely long time."

Matthew smiled. "For someone who claims to hate France, you sure know a lot about French culture."

"And just what are you implying by that?" Arthur glared at him.

"Oh, nothing."

The Brit huffed. "Besides, I don't hate France. It's a lovely country. Good food, great wine, beautiful countryside, and a wonderful climate. The only problem with this place is the bloody French!"

Matthew just continued smiling. "Whatever you say, Arthur."

The American in front of them smirked. "What, you two having a little lovers' quarrel?" He laughed when Matthew and Arthur looked at each other and both made faces. "Kiddin', just kiddin'. Seriously though, fight all you want, just don't let it come to blows or we'll bet on who'll win." He turned back around.

Arthur shook his head. "Bloody Yanks." _Honestly, are they all this laid-back? _He sighed. _They're crazy, the whole lot of them. And I'm just as crazy for falling in love with one of them._

End Ch. 6

* * *

**Thank you for reading, and a huge thank-you to everyone who's reviewed!**


	7. Chapter 7

October 15th, 1944.

It had been a couple weeks since Alfred's last letter, but Arthur wasn't too worried. The soldier had warned him that the fighting had become rather ferocious, and he didn't have much time or peace to write. That and the mail transit had become fairly slow, with so many people writing home… and so many bodies being shipped off.

The last one wasn't quite so pleasant, and as he travelled from camp to camp, fixing up as many men as he could, Arthur had done his fair share of comforting men who had lost friends and family. Matthew was a bit better—no, a lot better, at that. He knew exactly when to shut up and just let someone cry on his shoulder, and he knew when someone needed words of kindness. The young chaplain had a very reassuring manner, and his soft voice could calm even those who were at death's door.

After seeing it first-hand, Arthur had to mention it to him when they were back in the tent. Matthew just shrugged. "I'm not much of a fighter, so I like to do what I can to help people."

"And you do a right good job of it, lad, especially for your age. I've seen chaplains twice your age who aren't half as good at doing their job as you are."

Matthew wasn't the type to take compliments in stride, Arthur had learned, so the slightest praise from _anyone_ made him very bashful and self-aware. As such, Matthew picked up his pillow and squeezed it against his chest. "You think so?"

"I really do."

Matthew leaned his cheek against the cushion, losing himself in thought for a moment. "You know," he finally said, "I think I just grew up knowing how to comfort people. I mean, I pretty much had to."

Arthur, who had been reading a book, set it aside. He could sense that Matthew was opening up to him about something. "What do you mean?"

"Well, when I was little, my dad died. There was a freak accident at the factory he worked at. I hadn't known him all that well, since he was always at work, but it really broke my mom's heart. She got remarried a few years later, but then she couldn't have any more kids. That really depressed her." Matthew sighed. "I mean, what's a twelve-year-old to do when he comes home from school to find his mother crying in a pool of blood from her fourth miscarriage in a year? I had to help her feel better in a way my stepdad couldn't. You know, I had to let her know she wasn't a failure, that she had brought life into the world and raised me just fine, that sort of thing. And just when that was working, my grandma died. And then my best friend's mother died. And then my cousin's fiancé died."

Arthur didn't think he'd ever heard Matthew talk this much before, but he wasn't about to interrupt.

The Canadian paused for a moment. "I guess my family's known a lot of death. I was the only one who was always there to comfort whoever needed it. And hey, if you get enough practice with something, you become really good at it." Arthur nodded, still not saying anything. Matthew laughed softly. "Of course, that doesn't mean I'm any good at comforting myself. Do you remember how when we first met, the man I was in love with had just died?"

The Brit finally spoke up. "I remember. That seems like forever ago now, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does. It's just… if I hadn't met you and Francis, I don't think would've made it. You pretty much told me to hang in there, and helped me realize I wasn't alone in it all, and Francis… well." Matthew smiled. "You could say he gave me hope for the future."

Arthur smiled as well. "I guess I do have to give the man credit for something. I'm glad I helped, Matthew. The world needs more people like you."

The chaplain blushed. "Thanks." He put his pillow back down and lay on his cot with a sigh. He spoke in a hushed voice. "Hey, Arthur, you know how I found Francis and you found Alfred?"

"Yes, what about it?"

Matthew shrugged, staring up at the tent ceiling. "Did you ever wonder what it would've been like if we found each other instead?"

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows, unsure of how to respond. "I… I suppose I've thought about it. Why?"

"It'd be pretty different, eh? I mean, you're a great person and I really respect you, but…" He shrugged again. "I just don't get that feeling around you like I do with Francis."

Arthur smiled, relieved. "I know precisely what you mean. Things might have turned out differently, but they didn't, and I'm happy the way things are."

"Exactly."

The medic picked his book back up. "You had me worried for a minute there, you know."

"Hmm?"

"Well, it almost sounded like you were suggesting-"

"No. Definitely not."

"Ah, good. Just checking."

Matthew made a face. "Sorry. Sometimes I'm not good at putting my thoughts into words. Besides, I'd never try to take you from Al. You're way too smitten for that."

"Excuse me?"

The Canadian just smiled. "You should see the way your face lights up whenever you get a letter from him. It's pretty much like a kid who opened his Christmas presents and got exactly what he wanted. That's a bit of a cliché, I know, but it's true."

"And you turn bright pink and get flustered whenever you get one from Francis. You'd think he had proposed marriage to you or something, the way you get."

"At least I can admit it." Matthew sat up and whispered, "You still haven't told Al you love him, have you?"

"N-not in those words, no, but it's fairly obvious that my feelings for him are-"

"Write it or you'll regret it." The Canadian sighed and lay back down. "No mail yet, and we're moving on tomorrow. I'm sure they're both fine, but…"

"It'd be nice to have a bit of reassurance, I know."

…

October 17th, 1944.

A letter had finally arrived. Actually, there were two letters. Arthur was relieved to see that the most recent one was dated from less than a week earlier. He opened them both, scanning the oldest one quickly to make sure there was no bad news. There wasn't, and so he moved on to the other one. He could see a very slight difference in the handwriting, a little more slanted and jumbled than usual, so he paid more attention than he normally would.

_Hey Arthur,_

_Things are getting pretty hairy over here, and not just because we haven't been shaving. Ouch, that's even worse on paper than it was in my head. Oh well! Bad puns aside, man, those Germans can fight. You know, we had a bit of a temporary truce with them at one point. A few days ago, there was a forest fire (we don't know which side started it), and if we didn't put it out we'd all be fucked. So we worked together, believe it or not. One of our guys speaks German, and one of their guys spoke pretty good English, so communication wasn't too bad._

_They're just like us, you know that? Just like us, but wearing different uniforms. Why are we even fighting? We all want the same things, like peace, prosperity, and enough land for everyone, so why can't we get along? What's the point of this? Jeez. Sometimes I swear I'll never know. Don't worry, I'm not gonna desert or anything. I just feel weird about shooting at guys who are just like me. You know, they have family, friends, hopes and dreams, all that stuff. I didn't see it that way until recently, and now every time I kill a man, I feel a twinge of guilt. I mentioned it to this French guy, Pierre-philippe, and he said I'm having a 'crise d'indentité' (I spelled it right, I checked), whatever that means._

_Anyways, apart from me feeling like a scumbag whenever I hit what I'm shooting at, I'm all right. So… I may have gotten a bit of a concussion when a tree branch fell on my head (long story short, grenades are powerful little bastards), but I'm all right now. That was about a week ago, and it wasn't serious anyways. Just a bonk on the head that knocked me out. I haven't gotten anything from you in a while, but that's probably because you haven't gotten anything from me in a while. Stupid mail service. Well, I guess they're doing the best they can._

_Matt may have told you this, but Francis' group split off from ours a little while ago. Pierre-philippe is the head of our new group, and he hates being called Captain Mamberti (his official title). So we make fun of him with it, of course! He's from Marseilles, so he talks all nasally and it's pretty funny. He also hates it if you laugh at his accent, and we've learned not to make fun of that (again, long story short, taking a rifle butt to the stomach fucking hurts)._

_Well, to sum things up, the fighting's getting more dangerous now, I feel like a piece of dirt for doing my job, and I don't feel like a hero. I'm not saving lives by doing this like you are. And the new Resistance leader is a bad-tempered, nasal-talking guy who spouts philosophy when he's bored. Eric still talks too much, though not about cats anymore. Nowadays it's mostly about food, since our rations suck so bad. _

_You know, this is gonna be the first year I won't have a Thanksgiving. That's pretty depressing, I guess. But hey, thinking of you cheers me up no matter what. I really miss you a lot, and I think of you every day. It's cheesy, yeah, but it's true._

_Well, that's pretty much all the news from the front lines for now. I'll write again soon!_

_-Alfred_

…

Arthur sighed. So, the boy was finally getting a taste of why war was so awful, and why Arthur didn't want to pick up a gun, grenade, or any other death machine. He wrote a short reply, a bit shaken by how Alfred's tone had changed just in the past couple weeks.

_Alfred,_

_It's good to finally hear from you. This is the first time I've gotten a letter from you in a couple weeks, and truth be told, I was getting a bit worried. And bored. But mostly worried. All the leaves are falling now, turned brown and boring. At least I don't drift off when we're marching anymore._

_Though I do have to ask: you got a concussion from a __tree__branch__? That takes skill. I could understand if you fell down and hit your head on a rock, but honestly, a tree branch? That's the first I've ever heard of something like that. It hardly makes sense, but I'll take your word for it._

_And yes, Matthew told me that you aren't travelling with Francis anymore. A bit of a pity, I suppose. When you first set out, I was actually glad you'd have him as company. Matthew's certainly good company most of the time—well, when he's not being too quiet. The poor bugger's been having a bit of a rough time lately. Too many people to comfort, too many last rites to perform. It takes a lot out of him by the end of the day, and he's more exhausted than I am by the time we're done working. That's saying quite a bit, by the way._

_As for Thanksgiving, just find whatever you can to be thankful for. Whether that's friends, family, or just being alive, hold onto it. While I don't celebrate Thanksgiving (let alone even know when it is), I'm thankful for you. So buck up a bit, Alfred. _

_I miss you, and look forward to when I can see you next._

_-Arthur_

…

November 3rd, 1944.

The weeks were starting to run together again. The weather had turned dreary, drizzly, and downright chilly. Nothing Arthur wasn't used to in England around this time of year, but the other men (mostly the Americans) complained a lot. There were always comments like 'Where'd the sun go?' and 'I thought winter started at the end of November!' buzzing around. The worsening weather seemed to be dampening spirits all around, even as they pushed forward, hoping the end of the war was in sight.

Apparently, if Alfred's letters were any indication, morale on the front lines was taking a hit as well.

…

_Arthur,_

_How're things where you are? Here, things are okay, I guess. We've had a lot of casualties lately. I mean, it's expected that we're going to lose a lot of men, but it's just really starting to hit close to home. A couple men from my squadron got picked off by a sniper the other day, and I was right next to one of them when it happened. A couple inches to the right, and it would've been me instead. It was pretty much dumb luck that he got hit and not me._

_The real news is that it was Eric. The poor guy bled out in my arms. He was really quiet near the end, and I think that's how we all knew he was a goner. The medic did what he could, but it was hopeless. It's too quiet in the tent now, and we all know it. I guess it's true that you never really miss something until it's gone._

_But this really got me thinking, could I be next? I don't want to die without saying a proper goodbye to you. I don't want to bleed to death on the battlefield alone, or with some guy I barely know trying to save me. I don't want to die as a prisoner, either. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm not ready to die._

_So I won't. I promise. But I'm still worried, you know? I don't think anything will help me fix that, except maybe seeing you again. So I'll just have to stay alive until I can see you again! It's as simple as that. Only that's not really so simple, is it?_

_Give Matt a hug for me, will you? Poor bastard probably needs it. Oh, and give yourself a hug for me! I know that sounds dumb, but try it sometime. It actually works. Kind of. Well, it's better than nothing. Anyways, I miss you, and I don't think I'll stop missing you until I can hold you in my arms again._

_So, to end on a really sappy note, goodbye, Artie. I'll write again soon._

_Love, Alfred._

…

_Alfred,_

_I'm terribly sorry to hear about Eric. I didn't know the man at all, but I'm sure he didn't deserve to die. I don't think anyone killed in this war has deserved to die. He's another death in a long list of pointless deaths. I'm hoping you won't end up on that list. Just remember to always stay vigilant and to never let your guard down, no matter how tired you are or how hopeless it may seem. Of course, you already know this, but a friendly reminder never hurts._

_And you won't die. That may seem a bit overly hopeful and fanciful, yes, but I'm hoping with all my heart it will be true. You don't want to be killed, and I don't want you to die either (obviously), and I don't want you to be taken as a prisoner either. I'm not sure how the Germans treat their prisoners, but I'm sure it's not nicely. Let me do the worrying for you, however. You're much more liable to stay focused, and therefore alive, if you're not distracted. Just stay happy, carefree, and lovely, like you always are. That's one of the facets of your personality that I like the most, so try not to change it. No matter what happens._

_I approve entirely of you staying alive until we see each other next, though I would also appreciate it if you would stay alive for a long time afterwards. So please, be careful out there! Have you heard anything from your family recently? I know you're close to your parents, and if you're telling them what you're telling me, they've got to be quite worried about you as well._

_I will give Matthew a hug for you. He does seem like he could use a bit of affection, even if I'm not exactly the world's most cuddly person. Don't take that the wrong way now, Alfred, there's no reason for jealousy whatsoever._

He wasn't going to tell Alfred about his conversation with Matthew a couple weeks earlier.

_Anyways, I hope you're happy enough out there on your own. If not, then chin up! it could be worse. Not a whole lot worse, granted, but it could still be worse. If you're ever feeling down, just write to me and I'll try to make it better. I'm much better at healing physical wounds then I am at healing mental wounds, but I will always do my best for you. Take care, dear boy, and don't get yourself killed._

_I'll never forgive you if you do. _

_-Arthur_

…

November 10th, 1944.

Matthew was being too quiet again. He was just sitting in the tent after dinner, reading a letter over and over again by the light of an oil lamp, a bemused smile on his face. Arthur assumed it must have been bad news, since he wasn't saying anything. But when he asked Matthew what was the matter, the chaplain just shook his head.

Arthur sighed. "Honestly, boy, how do you ever expect me to listen to you when you won't answer my questions?"

Matthew shrugged.

"Gah! You're doing it again. I give up!"

The Canadian smiled wider. "I'm just happy. There's nothing wrong at all."

"And what are you so bloody happy about?" All right, so maybe Arthur was in a bit of a bad mood; not feeling very patient or pleasant at all.

"Francis. He's happy and safe and… I don't know. It just makes me feel better, knowing he's all right and happy and he misses me too, and he thinks the war will be over by next summer and-" Matthew cut off with a short laugh. "I'm babbling, aren't I?"

"Yes, you are."

"I'm a hopeless sap, eh? Jesus Christ, I haven't been this happy for a long time."

Arthur sighed. "You _are_ a sap. Goodness, if I had known all it would take to cheer you up was a happy letter from your arrogant Froggy friend, I would have sent him a letter myself telling him write you more often."

"It's not just that." Matthew smiled again. "After so much bad news, it's great to finally hear something good. It's almost enough to-" He cut off again, this time bringing a hand up to his face and shielding his eyes. "Scratch that, it is enough to make me cry."

Arthur shook his head, smiling at his over-emotional friend. He patted Matthew on the shoulder. "Hey, it's all right. Let it all out."

"I'm sorry, I just… I mean, I haven't cried happy tears since… well, it's been a long time." He wiped his eyes and folded the letter up, placing it in his breast pocket.

Arthur's own hand mimicked the gesture, covering his heart as he felt the handkerchief he kept there. It felt odd to not be the one crying for once, but to be the person who sat by and listened.

A couple minutes later, Matthew calmed down a bit. He lay down on his cot and sighed. "I'm going to sleep now, okay?"

"Go right ahead, Matthew." It was remarkable, how over the course of a few months Matthew had gone from just some man crying his eyes out on a bench to someone Arthur almost considered a brother. "Sleep well, lad."

"You too, Artie."

Matthew rolled over and closed his eyes, but Arthur froze. Artie—only one person had ever called him that before. Alfred called him that. He had always been 'Art' or plain old 'Arthur' to everyone. The American had changed him, he decided, and not in a bad way. What would he be without Alfred? Would he have 'found' Matthew after all? Would he be as happy, or would he have become jaded and bitter, using harsh words to hide how he felt from the outside world?

Arthur decided he didn't really want to know the answers to those questions, and turned off the oil lamp. What was important was here and now. No point in reflecting on what didn't happen, especially if it would only depress him. It was better to be happy and a bit worried. The man he loved was in a dangerous situation, how could he not worry?

He closed his eyes, blocking those thoughts from his mind. He needed to rest. Needed to let his dreams take him away from this hell of a war.

And take him away they did.

…

November 13th, 1944.

_Arthur,_

_I know you told me not to worry and all that, but I can't help it. It's just getting too dangerous out here, too nerve-wracking, and I really can't stop myself from worrying anymore. There's just so much going on. I mean, I've been lucky so far, but there's no telling if I'm next. _

_So, there's something I need you to do for me. I'm sure you noticed, but there are two other letters in this envelope. One's for my family, one's for you. You probably know where this is going, but I have to write it down anyways. If I do get killed, will you send off the one for my family? They'd want it. They'd want to know how I was. I'd want to say goodbye to them too, so it would sort of be my farewell, I guess. The one that's for you, well, it's also for if I… you know, if I __am__ next. Don't read it unless you're sure I'm gone though. Same with sending the other. No false alarms, okay? And if I'm taken prisoner or anything, don't send it. There's a chance I could make it home, after all._

_Now, don't freak out or anything. This is just a precaution. Okay, __mostly__ just a precaution. I want to make sure I get a chance to say goodbye to the ones I love, even if it's just in writing. It's kind of a load off my mind now, knowing you'd have something from me. Usually I'd have a buddy of mine do this for me, but the letters are safer with you and it would mean a lot to me if you were the one to take care of this. I had a friend get killed without having a letter to send home. I don't want the same thing to happen to me. _

_So you're not gonna get any goodbyes from me in my other letters, since saying it too many times makes it mean less. And there's no point in saying goodbye before I'm gone, right? Anyways, that's pretty much it. Not much new going on here, just more of the same. I really wish this damn war was over already. That's all I really have to say. _

_Take care of yourself, Artie. I miss you, and I wish I was with you right now. But hey, that's life. I hope you're all right, and that you won't worry __too__ much about me._

_Love, Alfred._

…

Arthur read through the letter twice. Three times. Four times. He checked the envelope, hoping Alfred was just playing some kind of cruel joke on him, but there were indeed two other letters. He threw down the first letter.

"Bloody idiot!"

He scratched out a quick reply, angry and frustrated, telling Alfred he was an idiot for sending him that, of course he would be just fine, and that he'd better smarten up and stop moping around. He handed it to the letterman, still angry and hoping it would get the American out of his rut of sadness.

Almost immediately afterwards, he regretted it. But instead of rushing to the letterman and taking it back, he stayed strong. Alfred needed to know how he felt about this, after all. He couldn't afford to sugarcoat his answer, especially since Alfred was acting as though he was doomed to die! Arthur couldn't stand for that. He knew Alfred would be fine.

He just _knew_.

…

November 15th, 1944.

There was a bit of a hullaballoo after dinner, soldiers gathering around the radio to listen, something they almost never did. When they did, it was never good news—a new group of casualties headed their way, another group of men taken prisoner.

The soldier in charge shoved them out of his way as he approached. "All right, all right, move it. What's going on?"

"Sir, there are some reports coming in about the United States Third Army. We haven't quite gotten the gist of it yet, but-"

"Then shut up and listen, you blockhead!"

There was a pause, the man closest to the radio bending over and pressing his ear against it. When he stood back up, his face was grim. "From what I can tell, it sounds like they can confirm that the entire fifth platoon of the Third Army has been wiped out."

"And by that you mean…"

"Killed or taken prisoner."

Arthur froze, eyes growing wide, and tapped another soldier on the shoulder. "Which platoon did he say?"

"The fifth."

"Ah… I see." He backed up slowly, the blood rushing from his face and his knees going weak.

The soldier he was talking to saw his face and blinked. "Hey, buddy, what's wrong?"

"I… it's just…" Arthur turned around, covering his mouth with one hand.

Matthew ran over and grabbed his arm. "Whoa, Arthur! Careful! Are you okay?"

"No Matthew, I don't believe I am."

The chaplain half-dragged him back to the tent, forehead creased with worry. He sat Arthur down on his cot. "Arthur, you're scaring me. What's wrong?"

"The platoon they're talking about. The one that they're saying has been wiped out."

Matthew's eyes widened. "No… you mean it was-"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Oh god, no. Arthur, I…"

"You don't have to say anything." Arthur was hyperventilating, barely able to choke any words out. If he had been standing, he was sure his legs would have given out. Instead, he just held his head in his hands and stared at the muddy ground, a single tear working its way down each cheek, quickly followed by twin streams of others.

A sob wracked Arthur's chest as he tried to speak. "It was his platoon. Alfred's. He's dead."

End Ch. 7


	8. Chapter 8

November 17th, 1944.

It still didn't seem real. The official reports had come in, and it was confirmed that the fifth platoon of the United States Third Army had been dissolved, all members missing in action and presumed dead.

Arthur couldn't wrap his head around it. He walked around in a daze, performing his duties as he was required to, but he wasn't really paying attention. Instead, he was thinking over and over, when he was doing everything from patching up patients to eating dinner, _Alfred's dead. I'm never going to see him again._

When Arthur went to bed that night, he lay awake for hours, unable to sleep.

_He's dead. Gone forever._

That finally seemed to hit him and he let out a choked sob, covering his mouth with both hands in an attempt to muffle his heaving breaths. It wasn't until his shirt collar grew damp that he noticed he was crying. Again. Arthur wiped his tears away with his sleeve before remembering his handkerchief.

He pulled it out of his breast pocket, saw the badge Alfred had given to him, and promptly sobbed. "Oh, god!" He clutched it to his chest, curling up into a ball on his cot.

He heard a sigh from the cot next to him and Matthew sat up. "All right, I can't just pretend to be asleep anymore." The Canadian stood up and walked over to his cot. "Move over."

The Brit sat up a bit, wrapping his arms around his knees. Matthew sat down next to him and tugged on Arthur's arms. "Come on, don't go primal on me. Sit like a normal human being. There you go."

Arthur did what he said, but still felt like he needed to hold onto something. Apparently, that something was Matthew, and he threw his arms around the Canadian, sobbing into his shoulder.

Matthew stayed calm, bringing an arm up to rub soothing circles into Arthur's back. "Shh… I'm here." He rocked Arthur back and forth, his other hand gently stroking the back of his head. "I'm here."

"Matthew, he's-"

"I know. I'm not going to say 'it's okay' or anything, because I know it's not. Just let it all out, Arthur." He let Arthur cry on him, just holding the other man and occasionally whispering soft words of comfort. The hand on Arthur's head began gently scratching his scalp, and it had a surprisingly soothing effect.

Arthur loosened his hold on Matthew slightly, his nails no longer digging into the chaplain's shoulders. Matthew shifted slightly so Arthur could lean on him more comfortably, but didn't stop murmuring pacifying words in his ear, didn't stop stroking his back calmly. "There you go. Now just let yourself cry. You'll feel better later."

"Matthew, I-"

"Shh. I know. Don't say anything right now."

Arthur took the chaplain's advice and closed his mouth. He closed his eyes as well, face burrowed into Matthew's shirt, the rough texture of the fabric not unpleasant enough for him to pull away. He let the other man's gentle rocking, the calming pressure on his back, and the soft scratching of Matthew's nails against his head slowly put him to sleep.

…

November 18th, 1944.

When Arthur woke up, he was still leaning on Matthew, still holding onto him, and the other man's shirt was embarrassingly damp with tears. When he dropped his arms from around Matthew, the chaplain woke up too. "Hm? Oh, Arthur. You fell asleep too?"

"Mm."

Matthew, in his quietly observant way, could sense that Arthur didn't want to talk, so he just nodded and stood up. "I'm going to get breakfast. Do you want me to bring you anything?"

Arthur nodded. When Matthew was gone, he wiped his face with his hands, trying to get rid of the dried tears. He looked around him and sighed. It felt as though everything had changed, but nothing looked different. It was just like the last time, only worse. Much worse.

Matthew came back with two bowls of porridge. "Here."

"Thank you."

"No problem." He sat down on his cot to eat, avoiding staring at Arthur. The medic was incredibly thankful for Matthew's courtesy, for how he always knew what to do.

But still, he picked at his food, not feeling very hungry at all. When he had forced enough down, he put the bowl off to the side and stared at the ground again. "I'm sorry about your shirt."

"Hm?" Matthew looked over at him. "Oh, don't worry about it."

When the chaplain was done, he stood up. "Ready to get to work?"

"I suppose."

_As ready as I'll ever be._

The day was slow. Arthur didn't quite feel like he was in a haze anymore, but everything that happened around him seemed to move at a very slow pace, and he couldn't focus on just one thing at a time. More than once he felt like breaking down and crying, but he knew he couldn't. Nothing would make the soldiers feel worse than seeing the man who was supposed to save their lives walking around and looking hopeless.

So he kept a stiff upper lip, staying stoic and calm through the day.

It wasn't until that night after dinner that he let everything show.

Matthew came into the tent and took one look at Arthur before shaking his head. "Arthur, I don't really have a nicer way of saying this, but… you look like hell."

Maybe the hopelessness, the weariness, or the depression was showing on his face. Maybe Matthew could see in his eyes that he felt utterly lost. Maybe it was all of that.

"I feel like hell, so that's not much of a surprise."

Matthew sat down next to him, obviously concerned. "What do you mean by that?"

"I just… I don't know what to do with myself. I feel so alone, so scared. I feel… hopeless, you could say." Arthur looked over at Matthew and saw the chaplain's face reflected some of the sadness he felt. He continued, "It's finally really hit me, that I'm never going to see him again no matter what I do. God, why do these things always happen to me? Wasn't once enough?" Arthur put his head in his hands and let out a shaky breath, willing the tears to stay in his eyes.

Matthew put an arm around his shoulders. "I know. It was bad enough to have this happen to you once, and now… it's just unfair."

Arthur sighed. "Do you know what the worst part is? I never got to say goodbye to either of them. I never even told either of them I loved them."

Matthew started and looked over at Arthur in shock. "But I told you-"

"I didn't listen."

"God, Arthur, you _idiot!_" Matthew stood up and put his hands on his hips. He raised his voice, which was something that almost never happened. "I _said_ you would regret it, didn't I? I _know_ how bad it is to have someone die without getting a chance to tell them how you feel, and you've been through it before, so I thought you'd _know! _That makes it ten times worse! You know, I was _trying _to help!"

Arthur stared at his shoes, eyes filling with tears. "I know. I know. You don't have to rub it in."

Matthew's hands dropped to his sides, and after a moment he brought one up to his face. "Sorry. That was completely uncalled for. It's just… I'm upset too, you know. Alfred was a friend of mine and I'm going to miss him. Neither of us wanted him dead. And it hurts me to see you like this, Arthur." He sat back down, on his own cot this time. "I was trying to save you a bit of hurt, so you wouldn't regret anything."

"I know. I should have listened."

Matthew sighed. "And I should have insisted. Look, if you want to talk, I'm here. If you want to be left alone, then let me know. I'll do whatever I can to make it hurt less."

Arthur nodded. He stared at his feet for a while longer before whispering, "I think I would like a hug."

"I can do that." Matthew stood up and pulled Arthur to his feet before hugging him, just letting Arthur's head rest on his shoulder.

He was so much like Alfred in his build, in his appearance, that Arthur could almost pretend he was holding the man he loved. But he wasn't, and he knew it, so he just clutched at the fabric of Matthew's shirt and let out a shaky breath, again willing the tears not to fall.

That worked until Matthew patted him very gently, very reassuringly, on the back. Then the dam burst and Arthur was crying again, just letting Matthew hold him and whisper calming words to him again.

Would he ever stop feeling so empty? There had been a hole in his chest since the night he first heard the news, and it was only growing larger and larger.

…

November 20th, 1944.

Arthur wasn't one to turn to drinking for comfort – he had seen for himself how it could damage a person – but at that point in time, it seemed like the only way to escape the hole of depression he was sinking into. So he found himself sitting around the fire with the soldiers who couldn't sleep and the men who were supposed to keep watch, nursing a bottle of something. Whiskey, maybe? He couldn't remember anymore. It was warm right by the fire, and Arthur lost track of how much he had drank. All he knew was that it _wasn't_ making him feel better. He felt worse, and now he was dizzy and had blurry vision on top of that.

Arthur was mumbling under his breath, and even he wasn't sure what he was saying. Something about Alfred, yes, but he had no idea what. Oh, and would you look at that, he was hallucinating. Here came Alfred, a disapproving look on his face.

"Arthur, come on. Don't do this to yourself. Let's get you to bed already."

"Alfred?"

"No, it's Matthew." The man who actually wasn't Alfred rolled his eyes. "You've had more than enough to drink if you think I'm him."

"Yeah, who is this Alfred guy?" That was one of the soldiers. "He's been babbling nonsense about him for a while."

"He was Arthur's best friend. Part of the platoon that got attacked a few days back."

"Oh… poor guy."

"Yes, they were very close."

"I can tell."

Right, Alfred was dead. This man couldn't be him then, right? Unless he had survived somehow. No, that was impossible. Arthur wasn't going to go with this Alfred-imposter. Don't talk to strangers. That's what Mummy always said, wasn't it? Well, when she wasn't drunk or yelling at Daddy. Oh, the stranger-man was talking again. Boo.

"Arthur! Hey, come on, we have to be up early tomorrow. We need our sleep, eh?"

"I'm not going with you."

The man sighed. "And why is that?"

"Because you're not Alfred." Sure, maybe he was being a bit indignant, but he had a reason!

The man sighed again, looked around, and muttered under his breath. "You leave me no choice. Sorry in advance, Arthur." He cleared his throat, speaking in a much louder voice. "Actually, I was just kiddin' ya, it _is _me!"

"Alfred?"

"Yep. C'mon, you look wiped. Want me to tuck you in?"

"Splendid." Arthur staggered to his feet and latched onto the man's arm.

The man who wasn't Alfred but actually was helped him back to the tent. When they were there, Arthur was dumped quite ungracefully on the cot.

"Oof. You're actually quite heavy, you know that?"

Hey, that didn't sound like Alfred. "Wait… you're not Alfred!"

The man rolled his eyes. "Artie, go to sleep already. You're going to regret this enough in the morning."

But Arthur wasn't listening. _Artie._ It _was_ Alfred after all. He was the only person who called him that. Well, Arthur was sure there was someone else, but he couldn't remember who right then. So this was Alfred. He loved Alfred.

So when the man went to pull a blanket over him, Arthur looped his arms around his neck and kissed him. The man spluttered and struggled, not at all responding how Alfred would. So Arthur dropped his arms and pulled back with a frown.

"Arthur, what the fuck? It's _me,_ Matthew!"

Blink, blink. Who? Oh, right, the other person who called him Artie. Oops.

"Oh, sorry. Thought you were Alfred."

"Yes, I know you did. But remember, Alfred's gone."

Arthur frowned again. Right, Alfred was dead. That's why he was sad. That's why he was drinking, wasn't it? He didn't like that one bit. Maybe it was all a dream, maybe he'd wake up soon. So he closed his eyes, blocking out Matthew's confused and worried face, the canvas of the tent, and the sputtering oil lamp.

Maybe it was all just a hellish dream.

…

November 21st, 1944.

Arthur woke up to a pounding headache. He covered his eyes with his hands, blocking out the light filtering into the tent. "Ow. How much did I drink?"

"Too much. Far too much." Matthew was sitting on his cot, looking quite unhappy. "You shouldn't do that to yourself."

Arthur sighed and lowered his hands. "I know. I thought it might help."

"And…?"

"It didn't."

"Good." Matthew stood up and turned his back to Arthur. "Please don't do that again."

"Don't worry, I won't." The Brit scrunched up his brows, trying to remember what had happened. Obviously, he had made a drunken, pitiful, miserable idiot of himself. And he had confused Matthew with Alfred again. He frowned, thinking some more. When he remembered, he winced. "Oh, bugger it all."

"What is it?"

"I remember what I did last night."

"Meaning…?"

"I'm sorry for not knowing who you were." Arthur's voice dropped to a hushed whisper. "And… you know… for kissing you. I didn't do anything else, right?" He really hoped not.

"No, that's about it." Matthew turned back around. "And I know you confused me with Alfred. It's fine."

"But still, I-"

"It's fine. You weren't thinking."

But he _had _been thinking. Just not thinking _clearly_. He kept his mouth shut, though, still feeling guilty. It wasn't as if he had intentionally kissed Matthew, but he did feel as though he had somehow betrayed Alfred. First he didn't even tell the man he loved him, and then he was kissing another man only five days after Alfred's death. It made him feel terrible, even worse than he had before.

He wouldn't be drinking to try to escape his pain ever again.

…

November 23rd, 1944.

"How're you feeling?" Matthew came over to talk to Arthur while he was taking a break from working. They were alone, sitting on a couple of tree stumps.

The medic shrugged. "Tired. Worn out. The usual."

"You know that's not what I meant." Matthew looked at him expectantly.

Arthur sighed. "I know what you're getting at. And to be perfectly honest, I don't really know what I'm doing with myself anymore. What have I got to live for? My family's just a bunch of drunken bullies who never keep in touch, the man I loved is dead, and I have nothing waiting for me back home." He stared off into space. "Sometimes," he murmured, "I wonder why I'm even alive."

Matthew's eyebrows were creased with worry again, and Arthur briefly wondered if they would stick that way. "Arthur…" he shook his head. "You've got a lot to live for."

"Oh, you think so? How about you enlighten me." Arthur knew he was being snippy, but he didn't care.

The chaplain's face fell. "I mean… you're needed by so many people here. And you're still young, there's a lot of opportunity ahead of you. Maybe you'll even find someone to share your life with."

Arthur snorted. "Fat chance. In all my life, the only person I've ever felt truly in love with… well, it was Alfred."

Matthew nodded. "I understand that, but… you've got to hang in there. I've been where you are, and I know it's not a pretty place. It seems like it's never going to end, but it will, I promise. So you can't just give up!"

"I know that, Matthew. Don't worry. I'm just going through a rough patch." Arthur sighed, his shoulders slumping. "A really rough patch."

The other man patted him on the shoulder. "Things will get better. It will take a long time, but they will. You probably won't have a 'Francis' come sweep you off your feet, so to speak, so there's no telling how long it could be. Could be months, could be years. But I swear, someday you'll feel better again."

"Grief is a terrible thing."

"But it's only human. If you weren't upset, I'd be even more worried about you." Matthew smiled at him reassuringly and patted him on the back. "I'd better get back to work. See you at dinner, eh?"

"See you then."

Matthew waved over his shoulder and walked off, hands deep in his pockets. Sometimes he seemed an awful lot wiser than his twenty years, and Arthur had to force himself to remember that the chaplain was younger than himself. He'd been through a lot, much like Arthur. At least his family loved him.

Arthur could still remember the day he walked out of the house and never looked back, sick and tired of the chaos, the fighting, the constant drunkenness, the stress and anxiety.

…

"_I'm sick of it, Mum! You've been 'trying' for years to stop drinking, to stop yelling at Dad, to stop us all from fighting, and what have you managed? None of it!"_

"_If you're so sick of it, how about you leave?"_

_The argument was normal. What Arthur did next, however, was not._

"_I think I will!" He stormed up the stairs to his room, shoving his belongings in a bag as quickly as he could. All his clothes, books, everything near and dear to his heart—which wasn't much. His brothers and father had seen to it that many of the things he treasured were broken. He must have made a racket, because when he stepped out of his room, his sister was peeking out of her room at him._

"_Art… what are you doing?" The girl was fourteen at the time, young and fragile in appearance, but Arthur knew she could take care of herself._

"_I'm leaving. I'm old enough to make it on my own, and I just can't take this anymore!"_

"_But, why?"_

"_I think if I stay here any longer I'll go mad. Someday you'll feel the same, love."_

_The girl's eyes filled with tears. "You're really serious? You're just going to pack up and leave us?"_

_Arthur put his bag down. "Hey now, don't cry. It's all right. Mum and Dad will barely miss me, and I'm sure they won't take anything out on you." He hugged his little sister. "Promise me, once you're old enough you'll do the same. Get out of here and live your own life. Marry a man who'll treat you well. Don't let your household end up like this, do you understand?"_

"_Yes, I do. And I promise I'll move out someday. You'll write to me, won't you?"_

"_Of course I will." Arthur picked his bag back up and slung it over his shoulder. "I'm sure we'll see each other again someday, too. Take care of yourself, love."_

"_You too, Art… you too."_

_Eighteen years old and out on the streets, Arthur knew he needed a job. And an education. Since he knew a war was coming, and the country would need medics, he went to the Red Cross Centre in Bristol. They claimed he was full of potential and shipped him off to London, where Arthur finally felt free from his family. _

_And in London, Arthur met his instructor. The man he would later fall in love with, and the man he would watch die in the streets without a hope of being saved._

…

Arthur sighed, returning from his trip down memory lane. Yes, there was a good reason he had left home and tried to put it all behind him. There was a good reason he never told Alfred much about his family—he didn't want to remember the years spent holing himself up in his room, in the attic, or just walking the streets in order to get away from the house. He checked his watch and sighed again, knowing it was time for him to get back to work.

He hoped they would be leaving this camp soon. Too many bad memories associated with it now, old and new ones. He wondered, could feelings and memories linger in a place like this? Years later, would someone stumble along and feel the anger, the pain, the depression? He hoped not. This place would be beautiful once the trees and the grass and the flowers grew back. It would be a place for happy memories, not for the things he was thinking of.

…

November 25th, 1944.

Despite the fact that Arthur knew Alfred was dead, he hesitated in reading the letter the soldier had sent to him to read. He didn't send off the one to his family either, wanting to wait just a bit longer. If he didn't read, didn't send, it made him feel like a bit of the other man was still with him, sitting in his knapsack. Arthur felt as if opening the letter would blow away whatever of Alfred's presence was left.

That and he didn't feel ready to say goodbye just yet. He knew it would provide him with closure, but he was avoiding that closure at all costs. He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to hear about it, and he certainly didn't want to read about it.

Despite that, he was dwelling on it while he worked. When he finally got around to reading it, digging it out of his bag, what would it say? Would he feel better afterwards, or worse? Arthur wasn't sure, and he didn't know if he really wanted to find out. While he was thinking, he heard the Sergeant Major, the man who was in charge, calling him over.

"Kirkland, Williams, come here for a moment!"

They were just about done working for the day, so Arthur and Matthew looked at each other, shrugged, and went to talk to the soldier.

"You two have been at this camp for a while now, and everyone's seen how great you work, especially together."

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Thank you, sir, but I don't really see how that's relevant."

"I didn't call you over to flatter you, Kirkland."

The Brit was a bit taken aback, but he tried not to show it. "Well, all right then, but why did you want to speak with us?"

"You two are excellent at what you do, and I've been told they need a couple men like you at a camp further down the way. There's a group of survivors who've banded together near Reims, and they have a lot of wounded. We're sending a squadron of soldiers their way tomorrow morning, and I'd like you both to join them."

Matthew tilted his head. "You said a group of survivors…?"

"The fifth platoon of the United States Third Army isn't the only one that's been hit in that area. The surviving men from those attacks joined together and radioed for assistance last night. How they even got ahold of a radio is beyond me, but let me tell you, whoever's leading them is one damn brave man."

Arthur nodded. "Thank you for informing us. I presume we'll arrive there a day after we leave here?"

"Probably. I appreciate it, you two."

Matthew smiled. "It's no trouble, really!"

Arthur just nodded at the soldier before motioning for Matthew to follow him.

"A band of survivors… pretty amazing, eh?"

"Don't get too excited. Half of them are probably wounded, and half of those will probably die."

Matthew sighed. "Thanks for bursting my bubble. I just meant that it's really surprising that they actually radioed for help."

"That is quite surprising, I'll give you that."

"Well, we'd better start packing, eh?"

"Of course."

Arthur was glad he would finally be leaving. Nothing like a change of scenery to lighten things up, after all.

…

November 27th, 1944.

Arthur had been plodding along with the rest of the group, staring at his feet the whole time. The ground was starting to freeze as the days got colder and colder, the leaves covering a layer of frozen mud that stuck to his boots and made his feet heavy.

According to the man leading them, they weren't far from the makeshift camp now, maybe another half-hour's walk. Matthew kept shooting Arthur concerned glances, though what he was worried about Arthur didn't know. So he just looked at the trees and fallen tree limbs around them, probably broken off during a battle.

_I never did get a chance to ask Alfred how he got that concussion… _Arthur sighed and stared back at the ground. If he started dwelling on that now, he wouldn't make it another few steps without breaking down and crying. He kept his mouth in a thin line, refusing to show any emotion.

He heard the men ahead of him muttering amongst themselves, so he looked up. There was a clearing in front of them, jam-packed with tents. Those tents were full of men, soldiers, some of which poked their heads out in surprise. "The reinforcements are here already?"

"Apparently. Do they have a medic with them? Ours is doing all he can, but…"

"Yeah, there's a guy with a Red Cross armband."

A young soldier stepped forward and saluted them. "Good day to you, sirs! Our commander wants me to tell you to set up with our men like you normally would." He beckoned another soldier. "Private, help these men sort themselves out."

"Yes, corporal."

The group of soldiers Arthur and Matthew were with dispersed, following the other soldier. The corporal saw them standing there and smiled. "A medic _and_ a chaplain? That's great. We need all the help we can get here. There's a lot of work for you two, but first I'd better show you around a bit. The First Sergeant wants to meet you too—see, he's in charge here." The man paused. "Oh, where are my manners? I'm Corporal Patrick Dover."

"Arthur Kirkland." Arthur shook the other man's hand stiffly.

Matthew, however, was much more polite. "I'm Matthew Williams. You men have done quite well for yourselves here, eh?"

"Oh, our commander's pretty handy. He's fixed up a lot of stuff around here. He was in my squadron, you know, but I never really thought much of him until this happened! Anyways, let's go. He wants to give you a full casualty report in person before you get to work." He motioned for them to follow him. "He has a tent to himself right now, but I think he'll share with one or both of you. I don't think he's been sleeping much, though, he's been really busy since we started setting up. Oh, we're here." He cleared his throat. "Sergeant Jones, I've brought the medic and chaplain for you!"

There was a muffled sound of scuffling, a quiet curse, and then a voice. "Okay, one minute!"

Arthur rolled his eyes and looked up at the sky, glaring at the grey clouds overhead. When the tent flap opened, he looked back down and his eyes widened. He blinked a few times, making sure he wasn't seeing things.

"Sorry about that, I was trying to fix-"

"ALFRED _FUCKING _JONES!"

The soldier jumped and his eyes landed on Arthur. "Artie? Oh my god, it _is_ you!" He opened his arms wide, grinning at Arthur.

The Brit was confused, overjoyed, and angry all at the same time. He stormed over and punched Alfred solidly in the gut.

"Oof!"

"You… you… _bastard!_ I thought you were _dead!_"

"Well, surprise! I'm alive!"

Alfred was a bit winded from Arthur's punch, but he just laughed when the medic starting pounding him on the chest, punctuating his word with his fists. "You idiot! You bloody moron! You _fucking_-"

Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur with another breathless laugh. "Whoa, whoa, Artie. It's okay."

"I _know_ that, you monkey-brained oaf, that's why I'm angry!"

Matthew shook his head from where he was standing, smiling at the two, and sighed. "Good to have you back, Arthur." The poor corporal was utterly confused. Matthew took pity on him. "How about you show me the rest of the camp? I'll talk with Alfred later."

"You… they… what?"

"We're all friends. I'll explain. Alfred, we'll catch up soon, eh?"

"You betcha, Matt!" Alfred waved cheerily, keeping one arm firmly around Arthur. He backed up until they were in the tent, where he smiled down at the other man. "Hey there, done trying to kill me with your fists? 'cuz trust me, it'll take a helluva lot more than that."

"Hmph." Arthur wrapped his arms around Alfred's torso and buried his face into the sergeant's neck, trying to stay calm.

"I'll take that as a yes. I'll explain everything, okay?"

"Then get to it."

Alfred just kept smiling. "In a minute. There's something I want to do first."

"And just what would that-"

Alfred tilted his chin up with one hand and kissed him, his other hand pulling Arthur closer. Arthur, who struggled for only a moment, let his hands travel up to Alfred's shoulders, squeezing them, making sure this wasn't a dream. It felt too good to be true, but Alfred was actually there, warm and solid and perfectly whole. When he was sure it was real, he broke the kiss, staring into Alfred's eyes.

He wrapped his arms around the soldier's neck, his hands sliding into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. "Al… you have no idea how much I missed you."

"I could say the same thing, Artie. Why else do you think I stayed alive?"

Arthur's breath caught in his throat and he leaned against Alfred, hiding his face in his shirt as his eyes filled with tears. Happy tears. "I… I suppose you did keep your promise after all."

One of Alfred's hands stroked the back of his head, and the American whispered to him, "Hey, hey. Don't cry. I'm here, it's okay."

"I know. I'm just overwhelmed right now. Give me a minute." Indeed, a minute later, he stepped back, breathing in deeply. "All right. I want to know what happened. All of it."

"Okay, prepare for my totally not-awesome storytelling skills!" Alfred sat on his cot and patted the spot beside him, so Arthur sat down as well. "It was like any other night, really, and we were all getting for bed. Except for the guys who were on watch, that is. Apparently, the Germans were getting tired of picking us off one by one, so they snuck up on us. I was taking a leak in the woods when I saw them, so I ran back and raised the alarm. After that, pretty much all hell broke loose. People were shooting, grenades were going off, and we didn't know which side was which. I grabbed a couple of my guys and dragged 'em off to hide, since we didn't have guns on us.

"By morning, all the noise had quieted, so we went back out to look around. There were a few uninjured guys, a lot of wounded guys, and even more dead guys. We gathered everything useful that we could carry, and I checked a map for the nearest village. I figured the French would help us out. Turns out we didn't need that, 'cuz a whole group of guys from the third and sixth platoons were headed the same way. Apparently, the same thing happened to them. We set up camp a few days ago, and I managed to fix one of the radios. It was only a little bit busted up, and once it was fixed, I radioed for help. I said we needed backup, another medic, and as much supplies as they could spare. They said they'd send them, so we fixed up the camp a little and cleaned ourselves up."

"I noticed that, you're actually properly shaved."

"Yep, all for you, babe." He winked and grinned. "Actually, I just wanted to make a good impression on whoever showed up, but this worked out better. I mean, the last person I was expecting was you!"

"I'm not complaining."

"Me either. But hey, how about you catch me up on what you've been doing later? There are guys who need your help right now."

"Fair enough. I'll see you later…?" The question hung in the air, Arthur still a bit worried he was going to wake up from this beautiful, too-good-to-be-true dream.

In one of his rare perceptive moments, Alfred smiled. "Don't worry, Artie. I'll be here when you get back. I'm not going anywhere."

"You'd better be here. This had better be real."

"If it's a dream, we're both dreaming it." Alfred took Arthur's hands and squeezed them. "Go. I'll see you later."

"Right." Arthur left the tent in a bit of a daze. The good kind, where he smiled at nothing in particular.

Alfred wasn't dead. He didn't even have a scratch on him! It left Arthur with a sense of relief that lasted until the evening, when he was given leave for the night.

He met up with Matthew before dinner, and the Canadian patted him on the back. "How're you feeling now?"

"Brilliant. Bloody brilliant."

"Glad to hear it. I talked with Al a little while ago, so we're both caught up on what happened. Pretty amazing, eh?"

"Yes."

They joined a group of men around the fire for supper and were handed slices of bread and stew. "Lucky for you guys, we got some nice rations today, courtesy of the French Resistance. Enjoy 'em while you can." The soldier who served them couldn't have been a day over nineteen, but he didn't seem too fazed by what had happened. In fact, he smiled as he served them, which surprised Arthur.

_How odd… come to think of it, most of these men are extremely happy, especially given the circumstances. Are they still just happy to be alive, running off that high, or are they all just good-natured, cheerful men? _Arthur shrugged it off and ate.

After dinner, he was about to ask Matthew if they would still be sharing a tent, when Alfred showed up at the fire. "Evening, guys! Anything left for me?"

"Of course, Sergeant Jones."

"Call me Alfred. Or Jones. You know what, call me whatever you want."

"Okay, sir."

Alfred rolled his eyes and grabbed his food. "Not quite what I meant, but whatever. Hey, anyone seen the new medic and chaplain recently?"

"They're right over there, sir."

Alfred glanced over at them and waved. "Hi guys! So, we're kinda running low on tents right now, and we're pretty much doing three to a tent. Only there's not quite enough room for everyone to do that, so one of you can stay with me. Unless you _want_ to be squished four in a tent with these guys, of course."

Matthew shrugged. "I don't mind sharing with the soldiers. Arthur, is that fine with you?"

The Brit shot a furtive glance at Alfred before snapping his eyes back to Matthew. "Yes, it is. I won't mind sharing with Alfred."

The soldiers all raised their eyebrows, and Alfred rolled his eyes. "For Pete's sake, guys, you're allowed to use my name! Besides, me and Artie know each other."

"That would be 'Artie and I', Alfred."

Alfred grinned. "See? He corrects my English. Anyways, that's settled. Oh, and Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"If you snore, I'm kicking you out in the cold. I don't care how tired you are."

"The same thing goes for you."

It felt odd to be this casual with Alfred when less than twelve hours ago he had been sure the other man was dead. Good, but odd. He'd forgotten how easy it was to be around Alfred. As easy as breathing, and almost as automatic.

But still, when it got late and everyone started heading off to bed, Arthur felt nervous and a bit excited. _Will we dare to…? Well, I would, but would Alfred? He has a reputation to keep, after all._

Arthur closed the tent flaps and stood there awkwardly. He looked around the tent for the first time, noticing the small table set up in a corner with a map on it, and some contraption underneath it. "What exactly is that… thing?"

"Oh, it's a communication radio. I fixed one already, but this one's pretty banged up." Alfred was also just standing there, as if he wasn't sure what to do either.

A voice in the back of Arthur's head said, "To hell with it," and he stepped forward, pulling Alfred into a kiss. The soldier responded enthusiastically, almost picking Arthur up as he threw his arms around him. They made their way to the cot, laying down with Arthur on top of Alfred, a bit surprised at how they got there.

When Alfred starting to unbutton his shirt, Arthur stopped his hands. "Wait, wait. Just a minute."

Alfred sighed but complied. "You'd better have a good reason, Artie."

"Actually, I do." Arthur fiddled with his shirtsleeves. "There's something I need to tell you."

Alfred's eyebrows rose, but he didn't say anything.

Arthur continued, "I… I kissed Matthew." When Alfred's expression went from curious to hurt and confused, he tried to explain. "I didn't do it on purpose! I was drunk. Really, extremely drunk. And it was right after we got the news that your platoon was destroyed, and I thought he was you. I was really _that_ drunk. He pushed me off right away, of course, and then I realized he wasn't you, but..."

Alfred laughed softly and kissed his forehead. "Hey, it's fine. I get it." He sighed. "You had me worried for a minute there, Artie. But if you thought he was me…" He shrugged. "It's okay. So… confession over?"

"Confession over."

"Good, 'cuz I _really _wanna kiss you right now."

Arthur sputtered, "Quiet down, you bloody git-" before Alfred covered his lips with his own. And when Alfred kissed him like that, he couldn't stay embarrassed for long.

He sighed into the kiss, cupping Alfred's face in his hands and moving so he was straddling the other man properly. This time, when Alfred's hands travelled up to unbutton his shirt, Arthur didn't stop him. In fact, he helped him, sitting up a bit to make it easier. He worked on Alfred's shirt as well, dropping it on the ground.

Arthur frowned when he realized they were both still wearing their boots and struggled to kick his off. Alfred removed his own, and they resumed kissing, hands wandering over each other's torsos. Alfred let out a particularly nice groan when Arthur's hands ghosted over his nipple, so Arthur concentrated his touches around there, running his fingers over them and lightly pinching.

He was so focussed on pleasuring Alfred that he was surprised when the other's lips moved up to his ear and nipped right below it. Pleasantly surprised, and it shot straight to his groin. He shivered and ground down against Alfred, pressing their clothed groins together. The friction was good. Arthur wanted more, so he continued slowly rutting against Alfred, feeling warmer and warmer as his arousal began to take control.

Alfred kissed at his neck, gently sucking and nipping at the skin there. One of his hands dropped to the small of Arthur's back, stroking and dipping below the hem of his pants.

Arthur let out a quiet groan and froze, stopping his assault on Alfred's chest for a moment. "O-oh… that's nice."

"Glad you think so too." Alfred beamed up at him, and Arthur had to smile back. In the midst of all this, Alfred could make him forget his lust for a moment, make him feel nothing but love. But still, his animalistic instincts wanted to take over.

He decided to let them, and undid his trousers, pulling them off along with his underpants. Alfred followed suit, and they tossed them on the ground to join their shirts. Arthur didn't feel any nervousness when he looked at Alfred's naked body. He felt exhilarated, alive, and _very _aroused. He ran his hands over Alfred's shoulders, looking him up and down hungrily. He was gorgeous, even with his farmer's tan, scarred leg, and the bruises and scratches from all the fighting.

Alfred was looking him over too, and Arthur began to feel a little self-conscious. He wasn't nearly as attractive with his clothes off. He had knobby knees, bony elbows, his ribs showed, and he was pale. Not really much to look at. Those feelings fell away the moment he looked into Alfred's eyes and saw the love, the adoration, the _hunger_ in them.

"Oh god, Artie." The American's hands stroked his sides, one of them reaching back to gently caress his rear. "I want you so bad."

The Brit shivered a bit and his eyes fluttered shut. Society be damned, he was going to love this man every way he could. So he kissed Alfred on the cheek and slid off him.

"Wait, where are you-"

Arthur rummaged in his bag and pulled out a small bottle. "Slick." He straddled Alfred again, coating a few of the other man's fingers with the slippery substance. "It hurts less with it."

Alfred blushed. "I've never…"

"I know. Me either. But I know what to do." He guided Alfred's hand around to his rear, pressing his fingers against his entrance. "Go ahead, one at a time."

Alfred nodded and gently pressed a finger in. Arthur bit his lip and sighed. It felt _so_ much better with someone else doing it to him. Alfred pumped his finger in and out, watching Arthur's face carefully. He crooked his finger and pressed right against _that_ spot, and Arthur gasped, stiffening.

Alfred froze. "I'm sorry, did I hurt-"

Arthur shook his head, struggling to find words. It just felt so _good_, sending white-hot shocks of pleasure through him, and Alfred was still pressing his finger right against it.

"No," he finally managed to gasp out, "Not hurt. Just—oh, Al… right there."

Alfred's eyes widened in understanding before narrowing mischievously, and he began moving his hand again, brushing that spot over and over. He added a second finger, and Arthur barely noticed the stretch, gasping out instruction to Alfred, telling him to go faster, deeper, all of it.

After the third finger, he was already a quivering mess, shaking with pleasure, his erection leaking. And if he was this far gone, he couldn't imagine what it must've been like for Alfred. Patient, gentle Alfred. Arthur stopped moving back against the fingers inside him and told Alfred to pull them out.

When the soldier did so, a bit reluctantly, Arthur coated Alfred's erection with a bit more slick. The other man tilted his head back and bit his lip, holding back a moan. Arthur centered himself over his lover, lowering himself onto Alfred, relaxing as much as he could.

It still hurt, but Arthur welcomed the burning stretch. It reminded him that this was real, that it wasn't just a dream, that he was actually, finally doing this with Alfred.

Once situated, he breathed deeply and glanced down at Alfred, whose eyes were at half-mast behind his glasses, his cheeks flushed, hair tousled, and his breath hitching in his throat every time Arthur moved just a little bit. Arthur knew he wasn't much better off, his brain fogging over with pleasure.

So he moved, lifting himself up and back down, almost crying out when his lover's erection hit that magical spot inside him. He tried to set a steady pace, but they were both desperate, Alfred bucking up occasionally and Arthur groaning a little bit as he sped up.

He was almost there, and judging by how Alfred was tensing and un-tensing, how he was throbbing inside Arthur, he wasn't far either. Arthur pulled him up into a kiss, tongues mingling, both of them moaning softly into the other's mouth. One of Alfred's hands wrapped around Arthur's erection, and that was it.

Arthur came first, with a quiet cry of Alfred's name, and he felt Alfred shudder and buck up into him once more before he was filled, the warm rush inside him making him gasp even as Alfred called his name.

They collapsed on the cot, breathing heavily. Arthur snuggled up to Alfred, kissing his cheeks, neck, jaw, anything he could reach. Everywhere he kissed he murmured, "I love you," and Alfred's arms wrapped around him. He kissed Arthur firmly on the lips, a sated smile on his face.

Arthur smiled back, still whispering, "I love you. I love you so much."

"I know. I love you too."

Arthur sighed happily. Finally, he had said it_._ He lay in Alfred's arms for a while longer, but eventually stood up to gather his clothes, blushing when he felt a warm wetness seeping out from between his legs. Alfred, who had also gotten up, passed him a rag.

When they were both a bit cleaned up and dressed, Arthur dragged his cot right next to Alfred's. He lay down and pulled the blanket over himself, warm and happy and fully content. Alfred lay down as well, and they held hands.

Arthur was the first to speak, in a hushed whisper. "I'm glad you're alive."

"Me too. You know, I was working on a letter to send you."

Arthur smiled. "You were?"

"Yep. It's pretty hard to figure out how to tell a guy 'Surprise, I'm not dead,' when you figure he thinks you're already gone. We didn't even _have_ paper until yesterday."

Arthur sighed and squeezed Alfred's hand. "Well, I think you found the perfect way to say it today."

"I guess. Hey, you know what's funny?"

"What?"

"Today was Thanksgiving." Alfred smiled at Arthur. "I'm glad I had you with me for it."

"You sap." Arthur sighed.

"But you love it!"

"Yes, I do." Arthur turned off the lamp that was on the ground next to him, plunging them into darkness.

Alfred chuckled. "What, no bedtime story?"

Arthur's brain was just a mass of happy, sleepy goo at the moment. He noticed the emptiness he had been feeling was gone. Gone completely, and not a single trace left. "Not tonight. I can't even _think_ straight right now."

"All right. How about tomorrow?"

Arthur smiled, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. "Tomorrow and every day after that, love."

End Ch. 8

* * *

**See, I wasn't going to leave you hanging for too long after the last chapter! I'm not that cruel, really.**

**Thanks to everyone for reading, and for the amazing feedback. I love reading your reviews, they make me so, so happy.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello everyone! Now, I got so much feedback from the last chapter, and I really appreciate it all, so I just wanted to say thank you. You are amazing fans!**

**Read on, my friends, read on.**

* * *

November 28th, 1944.

Arthur woke up that morning to a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, wake up. Time to get to work."

It was Matthew, and for a moment Arthur thought it _had_ all been a dream. Then he heard a groan next to him.

"Nooo… five more minutes."

"I wasn't talking to you, Al, but I suppose you should probably get up too."

Arthur's heart lifted and he sat up with a smile. "Good morning!"

Matthew smiled. "Someone's quite chipper this morning, I can see."

"Indeed."

Arthur glanced over at Alfred, who was grumbling and feeling around for his glasses. He smiled again and stretched his arms over his head. He went to stand up, wincing when pain shot through his lower back. He groaned in annoyance and rubbed his back with one hand, fixing his hair with the other hand.

Matthew blushed and put a hand over his mouth, and suddenly Arthur realized where the pain was from. "Arthur, you honestly didn't-"

"That's none of your damn business, boy!" Arthur's ears went pink.

Matthew laughed behind his hand. "Well, if it's any consolation, no one heard you. Jesus Christ, I feel like I should be congratulating you or something!"

"I _said_, it's none of your business!"

Alfred looked up at them. "What are you two ladies so rosy-pink about?"

"Oh, nothing. Arthur's just being a bit of a sore-ass." Matthew laughed at his own joke, and Arthur sputtered incredulously, both at being called a 'lady' and at Matthew's comment. The Canadian waved over his shoulder as he left the tent, still giggling a bit. "Hoo boy. That's a good way to start the day. Hurry up if you want any breakfast, you two!"

Alfred shrugged after Matthew left. "What was that all about? Whatever. Hey, you're walking funny!"

"Shut up. I'm not going to talk about it."

…

Even the wounded men Arthur dealt with that day were remarkably happy, and it rubbed off on him, though it was a bit confusing. When he told one of the soldiers that they would probably have to amputate his foot, he just shrugged and asked if he could get a peg-leg and an eye patch to freak his little brother out with. It was amusing and infuriating at the same time.

He said as much to Alfred that night at dinner, and the soldier just shrugged. "Hey, if it helps him feel better. Come to think of it, a lot of these guys are in high spirits. It's weird, isn't it?"

"I was about to say the same thing. Do you have any idea why?"

"Well, I guess you could say they're full of…" he paused. "What's the phrase, _joie de vivre_." He nodded. "Yeah."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Another phrase from your philosophizing French friend?"

"You betcha. He's here too, you know. Do you want to meet him?"

"So long as he's nothing like Francis."

Arthur was pleasantly surprised by Captain Pierre-philippe Mamberti. The man was blunt, spoke in short, to-the-point sentences, and didn't even _try_ to kiss his hand.

"Very nice to meet you, Kirkland. Alfred told me much about you, and from what I understand, you're very good at your job."

"Well, I do my best."

"Zat is good. Alfred is good at his own job. Speaking of which," he turned to Alfred, "Ze other radio, 'ave you fixed it yet?"

"Still workin' on it. It's coming along, but that's one bashed-up little box."

Arthur tilted his head. "That reminds me, you never told me you were quite the handyman."

"Well, I am. Always have been. I like fixing things up, and I'm good with my hands."

_You proved __that__ well enough last night_.

Arthur mentally slapped himself for thinking that, instead nodding at Alfred. "Doesn't surprise me much, to be honest."

Pierre-philippe looked between the two of them and shrugged. "Well, it was nice to meet you, but I've work zat needs doing. Alfred, let me know whenever you get ze radio done."

"No problem!"

The Frenchman nodded and walked off, and Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Well, he's… different, to say the least."

"Not what you expected, huh? I know, I thought he'd be a total sissy-man like Francis, but hey, everyone's different."

"I suppose." Arthur shrugged. "Oh, and speaking of different, how did you get that concussion?"

"Huh?"

"The tree branch concussion."

Alfred blinked. "Oh. Not sure what exactly that has to do with anything, but… it fell on my head after a grenade blast knocked it down."

Arthur sighed. "Not nearly as exciting as I was hoping for. Oh well."

"Hey!"

…

December 2nd, 1944.

Arthur was alone in the tent before bed, rooting through his bag when he found the letter Alfred had sent him a while ago. The letter he hadn't wanted to read. Curious, he sat on his cot and pulled it out of the envelope, scooting closer to the oil lamp so he could read it.

…

_Arthur,_

_If you're reading this, you've either peeked at it when you weren't supposed to, or I'm dead. If it's the first one, then stop reading now. If not, then I guess you've got some reading to do. _

_So… how do you say goodbye to the person who means the most in the world to you? I don't really know, which is why I'm glad I have time to think about it and write it out properly. I know you're gonna miss me, but don't tear yourself up over this. There're plenty of guys like me out there, and you have plenty of time to meet them. I'm not all that special, really, so don't let me dying stop you from enjoying life. That'd just be unfair._

_You mean so much to me, you know that? I'm sure you've guessed that much, but I really mean it. It's kind of embarrassing to admit, but I was planning on asking you if you wanted to come back to America with me once this is all over. Or if you wanted me to go to England with you. Hell, wherever you wanted to go, I would've gone with you. It's a little bit weird, but I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you._

_I've been in love before, but never like this, and it's really something else. You never told me you loved me, and I kind of wanted to hear it, but I know you do—no, you did. I'm gone now, aren't I? Anyways, it's enough for me. It's probably just hard for you to tell someone that, right? I mean, if you had said it, this would probably hurt even more. I don't know if that's true, but I'm hoping it is, for your sake._

_So… now that I'm gone, I want you to do something for me: be happy. Don't mope around for long. I hope I'll be able to watch you from wherever I go, so I'll know if you don't. I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise to you, but I didn't really have control over that. I'm not the first guy to die because of this war, and I'm sure as hell not gonna be the last. Just know that I was thinking of you when I went._

_I thought about you whenever I was in danger, actually. I'd be worried sick, and then I'd remember that I promised to stay alive for you, and it helped me through everything. Hell, that's probably not much of a comfort now, but I hope it's better than nothing. I really just want you to know that no matter how much you'll miss me, I'll miss you just as much._

_Goodbye. Please, be happy. Live a full life, do what you want. If anything, do it for me. I miss you, and I love you. I did since the moment I first saw you, Artie. And I'll never stop. Goodbye._

_Alfred._

…

Arthur re-read it several times, and was still sitting there when Alfred came into the tent. "Hey, Artie. Whatcha reading?"

"Oh, it's nothing," Arthur murmured, "Just a letter I should've read a long time ago."

"Okay then." Alfred sat down across from him. "Hey, are you all right?"

"Perfectly so. Why do you ask?"

"Well, you sort of look like you're about to cry, but you're smiling, so…"

Arthur shook his head, his voice catching in his throat. "I'm fine. Really, I am."

What, was this intense sense of relief and happiness similar to what Matthew had felt that one time? If so, Arthur couldn't blame him for crying.

Alfred took the letter and scanned it, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "But this is…? I sent this."

"I know. I didn't read it until now."

"Why not?" Alfred moved from his cot to Arthur's, sitting next to him.

"I didn't want to think about it. But now, since everything's all right, I wanted to." He leaned against Alfred. "I just wish there was some way I could tell you how I feel in as many words."

Alfred smiled and put an arm around him. "Hey, someday we'll have all the time in the world." He paused. "So… when all of this is over…"

Arthur took his hand. "I want us to stay together."

He sighed and kissed Arthur's forehead. "Great. That's really… well, it's a load off my mind."

"To be honest, I wouldn't have it any other way, my love." Arthur didn't care that he was smiling like a fool, he was just happy to be in the same space as the man he loved, the man who loved him. And if that made him a sap, then he would proudly wear that title.

…

December 10th, 1944.

"Hey, did you hear?"

"Hear what?"

"We're gonna be heading back to the front lines soon."

"Already? Well, I guess we have been here for a long time."

"Yeah, and most of the guys are patched up enough. They said there's gonna be a few French reinforcements coming, and once they're here, we'll all set off together."

"Did you hear when they'd be showing up?"

"Nah, I didn't. Ask Jones, he'd know."

Arthur wasn't trying to eavesdrop, honestly. He'd been heading to the supply tent when he overheard a few soldiers talking. So, naturally, he stopped to listen, since they were talking about something important. After they stopped talking about interesting things, Arthur went back to work. He would just have to ask Alfred about that later…

He remembered just before bed, sitting up in his cot. "Oh yes, I meant to ask you something."

Alfred yawned. "M'kay, about what?"

"I heard some men talking about French reinforcements. Is it true they're coming here?"

"Oh yeah, them." Alfred pushed himself up on his elbows. "They'll be showing up in a couple days, so you'd better be ready for a whole new load of fruitcakes."

"They're bringing desserts?" Arthur was incredulous, and a bit confused.

Alfred laughed. "No, I meant that _they're_ gonna be the fruitcakes."

"Oh."

"Someone's a little bit tired, hm?"

"Oh, hush up."

"No hard feelings, I'm pretty wiped out myself. Shut off the lamp, will ya?"

Arthur did, and then leaned over to kiss Alfred. "Goodnight, love."

"G'night, Artie. See ya in the morning."

They spoke, as always, in hushed voices, not wanting anyone to hear anything that was even _vaguely _suggestive of their relationship.

Arthur couldn't wait for the day he could be alone with Alfred and say whatever he wanted to him, whenever he wanted to. After the war, of course, after the great big mess in Europe would be cleaned up.

…

December 13th, 1944.

The French had arrived. They came in the middle of the day, of course, when everybody was just minding their own business and passing the time by playing cards, chatting, mending ripped clothing, or writing letters to friends and family. No one had really been expecting it, but when they heard a chorus of French chatter bubbling up from the trees, everyone rushed to look at least slightly presentable.

Arthur had been whittling away at a stick with his pocketknife, and Alfred was napping on the ground next to him, so Arthur kicked him to wake him up, hissing under his breath, "Up, you idiot, _up!_ Look official, damn it all!"

Fortunately – or maybe unfortunately – the man who introduced himself to them first didn't really seem to mind, prompting Alfred to smirk at Arthur quite cheekily.

"A pleasure to meet you, _mes frères d'armes._ Should we set up camp as well?"

"Sure, go right ahead, sir…?"

"Beauclair."

"Right." Once they had gone to set up, Alfred sighed. "I swear, I'm going to forget his name in two minutes. I never get their names right. Anyways, we'll be heading off tomorrow morning, so I guess I oughta let the guys know. Help me rally them up here, will ya?"

"Of course." Arthur went to gather the soldiers on the other side of the camp, calling out, "Oy, Americans! You're needed for a briefing."

"Sure thing, bud. Just give us a minute."

Matthew peeked out of a tent. "Do I count as an American in this case?"

"I suppose. Well, come along."

Matthew shrugged and followed Arthur. "So, what's the briefing going to be-"

"_Petit lapin?_"

Matthew and Arthur both froze in their tracks, recognizing the voice. Matthew immediately went pink and peeked over his shoulder. "Yes?"

"_Mon dieu, _it is you after all! I thought so, but one cannot be sure!" Francis ran up to Matthew and kissed him on both cheeks several times, speaking at the same time. "I hoped you would be 'ere, at zis camp, but I wasn't going to get my hopes up. And now I'm very 'appy!" He took a step back and tsked. "Look at you, you've lost weight, _mon pauvre. _You 'aven't been eating enough!"

Matthew had a bemused smile on his face. "Well, no, we've only had rations, so…"

Francis pressed a finger to his lips. "Say no more, Matthew. We will talk later, yes? For now, you 'ave a meeting to attend to." He glanced over at Arthur. "And 'ello to you as well, _mon ami_."

"Good to see you're alive and well."

They shook hands, Arthur pleased when the Frenchman made no moves to embrace him. "Yes, of course. I 'ope you will not mind me stealing away my Matthew later."

"Not at all."

They all nodded at each other and parted, Arthur dragging a happily stunned Matthew along by the wrist and rolling his eyes when Matthew waved to Francis over his shoulder, his eyes wide and mouth open in a dazed smile.

"Stop gawking like a love-struck fool, you."

"I can't help it. He's here. _Here. _Wow."

"Matthew, please try to focus. I know you're happy-"

"Try overjoyed." The chaplain smiled and shook Arthur's hand off his wrist, walking with a bit of a bounce in his step. "Wow. So… I'm definitely allowed to go with him later, right?"

"I'm not sure about overnight—you'd have to ask Alfred about that one." He raised an eyebrow at Matthew and earned himself a shove from the now-blushing Canadian. "Really though, I'm sure he won't keep you apart."

"Wow."

"Yes, it's wonderful."

"Yeah. _Wow_."

Arthur rolled his eyes and resigned himself to his friend's new and very limited vocabulary. Matthew got permission to spend extra time with Francis, and Alfred nudged Arthur when he saw him next. "Five bucks says Matt'll be walking funny the next time we see him," he whispered.

"Five pounds says Francis will," Arthur replied.

"Okay, ten bucks says _both_ of them will."

Arthur sighed and elbowed Alfred in the ribs. "Pig."

"Hey, you encouraged it!"

"And now I wish I hadn't."

"Uptight limey."

"Boorish Yank."

Alfred grinned. "And proud of it!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "There's really no winning with you, is there?"

"Nope. Or if you do actually win, I'll find a way to make it seem like I won. That's the American way!"

"Now I see why all your people act like that." Arthur sat down on a tree stump and pulled out his pocketknife, beginning again to whittle the stick he had found.

Alfred flopped back onto the ground next to him with a sigh and grinned goofily up at Arthur. The medic sighed and chucked the stick at him, bouncing it off his forehead. "You," he murmured, "Are lucky I love you so much."

"Oh, I know."

…

December 16th, 1944.

After the weeks of calm, they were back in the fighting. It was very different from what Arthur and Matthew had grown accustomed to, and the first few days were traumatizing. They were out of practice from dodging bullets and the like, and Arthur was constantly diving to the ground to avoid grenades, swearing loudly and putting his hands over his ears.

Matthew wasn't much better off, and had decided to drag himself along the muddy ground with his elbows, occasionally lifting his head to see if it was relatively safe, maybe even safe enough to stand. It usually wasn't.

Alfred, of course, was at the front of the group, shouting out orders and shooting like a professional. _Oh right, _Arthur remembered, _that's because he __is__ a professional._

By the end of the day, they had managed to push the Germans back a few good miles, with a relatively small number of casualties. After the sun set, though, the fighting changed. Less shots were being fired, but those that _were_ fired hit their marks more often, were far more accurate.

Arthur, who had caught up with the rest of the men, heard Alfred hiss, "_Shit. _They've got their sharpshooters out there. Everybody down, and if you've got grenades left, aim 'em where the bullets are coming from." He lay down in the dirt himself, pointing his gun out into the dark. "C'mon, you bastards, I know you're just out there giving the rest of your buddies a head-start."

A man next to Alfred sighed, and Arthur realized it was Francis. "Let us 'ope zey will not set ze trees on fire behind zem again."

"Yeah, that was a pain in the ass for all of us. I don't think they'll try it again anytime soon."

"If zey do, I will personally shoot zem all. We are getting closer to Reims, and zat city is too nice to be burned down."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "You know, I was just a _bit_ more worried about us losing men. Have you seen Arthur anywhere?"

The Brit cleared his throat. "Right behind you."

Alfred jumped and glanced over his shoulder. "Hey! Okay, there's a guy over there who got his thumb shot off just a couple minutes ago and-"

"I've already taken care of it."

"Oh?" Alfred raised his eyebrows. "That was fast. Okay then, just stand by in case we need you. You're a faster worker than the last guy, that's for sure. Where's Matt?"

"Over there, pulling a splinter out of someone's ear."

"Great. Man, you guys really know how to do your jobs." Alfred smiled at him and turned back around. "Aha! Found one." He let loose a brief burst of gunfire, and there was a shout of pain from the other side.

"I would 'ave to guess zat you got 'im."

"Yep." Alfred winced briefly, and Arthur noticed for the first time the crease in between his eyebrows.

At first he thought it was because Alfred was injured, but then he realized what it was. _No. he's not hurt. Not physically, at least. He's feeling guilty. Feeling guilty for shooting that man._

He saw Francis' face bore a similar expression, despite the light chatter between Alfred and himself. A quick glance around at the other soldiers showed that they must have been having similar qualms about killing their opponents, since they were all making the same face.

_They all feel guilty. _Arthur felt his respect for these men rise immensely, and it made him wonder: did the men on the other side feel like that as well?

…

December 24th, 1944.

Christmas Eve. There was an unofficial cease-fire of sorts, it seemed, as neither camp was attacking the other. There was even a semi-cordial wave or two exchanged as they saw each other pass by the edges of the camp, but no words spoken. No white flags, no temporary peace treaties, but no bullets flying either. Apparently, no one wanted to have a bad Christmas.

So they sat around in the freshly fallen snow, shoveling it aside to make room for the fire. "All the logs are a bit damp, unfortunately." A soldier was talking to Alfred after many attempts at lighting the fire.

"So pour a bit of gasoline on them."

The other man raised an eyebrow. "Huh. I didn't think of that. Thanks, Jones!"

"No problem, it's part of the job description." Alfred was happy that the men had finally stopped calling him 'sir', he had mentioned it to Arthur a few nights ago before bed. Alfred sighed and glanced over at the Germans' camp. "I'm hoping they won't attack. I don't have plans to ruin _anyone's _Christmas, even if we are fighting each other."

Arthur shrugged. "Understandable. That reminds me, though, are we going to celebrate tonight or tomorrow?" Arthur asked, fiddling with his gloves a bit. He had received this new pair recently, and they were still a bit stiff on his fingers.

"Tonight. If the fighting's gonna start back up the day after tomorrow, I at least want our guys to be a bit rested, yanno?" He sighed again. "I can't give them much of a Christmas dinner, of course, but…"

Arthur patted him on the shoulder. "It's all right. I'm sure they aren't expecting one anyways."

"Good point. Man, being in charge is tough sometimes. The guys blame you for anything that goes wrong, even if you had nothing to do with it, and it's not worth the praise you get for doing something right."

Later that night, after dinner, Alfred gathered the men around the fire. "Okay guys, we've got a lot of fighting and stuff ahead, but for tonight, I want us to act just like we would back home. Well, as best as we can out in the French countryside with nothing but tents, booze, cigarettes, and cards to keep us busy. Hell, throw in a couple women, and that's pretty much how we spend Christmas anyways, right?"

There was a brief moment of laughter from the men assembled before Alfred continued, "But really, let's just try to have fun tonight. There's no presents, and we're all far away from home, but for tonight let's be one big family. Think we can do it?"

"Only if we can call you 'Uncle Al'," one man piped up, and there was a smattering of laughter.

Alfred grinned. "Of course you can. See, _that's _the spirit! Now, go get drunk and play poker. But first, I have something for all of you." He winked, and Arthur could've sworn it was aimed at him, and reached into the pack at his feet. "Now, I know it's not much, but I've been saving this up for a while now, and I know for sure that the rest of you are out. So…" He pulled out a few handfuls of wrapped, rectangular objects. "There's enough here for everyone to have a few pieces."

A soldier picked up one of them and grinned, his eyes lighting up. "Chocolate!"

All of the men smiled excitedly, and one laughed. "I don't think I've been _this_ happy to see anything since Joe got that fancy pin-up calendar!"

The other men chuckled. "So you get just as excited by food as you do by women?"

"Hey, you know what they say: the way to our hearts is through our stomachs!"

Arthur just shook his head and smiled at Alfred. _And it's times like this that make me fall in love with him all over again. _He took the chocolate offered to him by one of the soldiers, murmuring a thank-you. _This is so terribly sentimental, but I can't find a single reason it isn't one of the sweetest things I've ever seen._

He inched closer and closer to Alfred until he was standing right beside him. Alfred smiled at him. "Hey there, stranger. Whatcha doing?"

"Oh, nothing." _Just looking at you and trying not to kiss you. _He held out his portion of chocolate. "Didn't you get some?"

Alfred shook his head. "Nah. I don't need it."

By then, the men had all dispersed to play cards, drink, talk, or some combination of the three, and Arthur and Alfred were alone by the fire.

Arthur broke off a piece of the candy bar and nudged Alfred. "Here. Take it."

"No, it's yours."

"No, it isn't. _Take_ it."

Alfred shrugged and took it from Arthur, smiling at him. "You really are a big softie, aren't you?"

"If I am, it's all your fault."

"Keep telling yourself that, Artie. Well, I'm gonna go play a few games of cards, but I think I'll hit the hay pretty early tonight. Don't keep me waiting _too _long, okay?"

Arthur nodded. "Not a problem." Then he caught a glimpse of something in Alfred's eyes and realized what he meant. "Oh. _Oh._ Yes, well, I'm feeling rather sleepy as well, so I'll probably be retiring early tonight myself."

"Righty-o then, see ya later!" He winked at Arthur and pretty much skipped away, leaving Arthur to shake his head and sigh.

"It doesn't matter how much time I spend with him, I don't think I'll ever quite understand Alfred."

They _did_ go to bed early… after a fashion.

Arthur covered his mouth with one hand and gripped Alfred's shoulder with the other as they lay entwined together on the cot, a blanket covering them for warmth. Alfred was moving gently against him, inside of him, touching all those spots just right. His own breath was coming in short, harsh gasps, but Alfred held himself up with both arms, hips thrusting forward, biting his lip to keep any and all sounds muffled.

Arthur stroked the back of Alfred's head and neck with his free hand, having learned that the other man loved it when he touched him there… especially at times like this. Sure enough, Alfred bit his lip harder, eyelids fluttering a bit behind his glasses. He moved faster, and Arthur felt himself begin to instinctively buck back against Alfred, his own eyes forcing themselves shut as he began to lose control.

"Don't," Alfred whispered suddenly, voice rough and deeper than usual, "Open your eyes. Look at me, Artie."

Arthur tried, but hearing his name in that voice, the pleasure pounding through his veins, it was all too much. He gasped one last time, hand falling away from his mouth as he came, arching up against Alfred. The sergeant snapped his hips forward once more and froze, shivering with pleasure, barely containing the low moan that reverberated in his chest as he finished.

He collapsed on top of Arthur, wrapping his arms tightly around the Brit. "God, I love you," he murmured.

"I could say the same thing."

"Then why don't you?" Alfred grinned lazily, cockily, and just a little bit sleepily up at him, and Arthur sighed.

He whispered, "I love you, Alfred F. Jones."

"Thanks." Alfred kissed him on the nose. "It doesn't matter how much I know it's true, it's just always nice to hear."

Arthur sighed and squeezed Alfred's shoulder. He kissed him, humming happily against Alfred's lips. They broke apart to breathe, and Alfred put their foreheads together. "Merry Christmas, Artie."

"Merry Christmas."

…

December 27th, 1944.

The unofficial cease-fire had ended the day before, and Arthur was back to crawling around in the dirt, and wasn't at all happy about it. Matthew wasn't anywhere nearby, so he didn't have anyone to complain to, and settled for muttering insults under his breath every time something came too close to him for comfort.

Well, until a grenade blew up about a metre away from him, sending a spray of mud, sticks, and rocks over him.

"That's _it!_" Arthur elbowed a soldier. "Give me your handgun, boy. I've _had_ it with being targeted!" He sat up for a brief second, firing a few rounds in the direction most of the shots had been fired from. He saw a man go down after taking a bullet to the head and dropped back to the ground, heart pounding in his chest.

Arthur had only ever used a gun during training, and now he had just shot someone. Probably killed him, too. _It was self-defence. I was only protecting myself and the men around me._ He took a shaky breath. _So why do I feel so sick all of a sudden?_

He passed the gun back to the soldier, blurting out a 'thank-you' before tilting his head to the side and retching, coughing up the remains of his breakfast. The men around him looked concerned, but no one spoke up, except for Francis, who was somewhere behind him.

"Arthur, are you all right?"

"I… I think so. Just got a little nauseous."

The Frenchman nodded. "Nerves, no doubt. Stay where you are until you feel better, yes? We can't 'ave you vomiting on ze rest of us."

"No, we can't."

Francis patted him reassuringly on the shoulder as he walked past before returning to join the fight. Arthur sighed. _I wonder, have any of them felt like this before?_

He mentioned it to Alfred later that day.

"I killed a man today."

"What? But you don't have any long-range weapons, and we weren't close-range. How?"

"I borrowed a handgun."

"Oh. Well… it was bound to happen sometime." Alfred shrugged. "It sucks, I know, but the front lines are a kill-or-be-killed kind of place. How do you feel?"

"A bit ill, to be honest."

"Hah, that's _really_ normal." Alfred shook his head. When Arthur shot him a quizzical glance, he continued, "Despite my heroicness out on the battlefield, I barfed the first time I landed a fatal hit on a guy. The first few times, actually. A lot of the guys feel pretty sick the first couple times, and some of us still feel a little bit weird about it. Matt hasn't had to pick up a gun yet, but I guarantee you he'll probably start crying when he does. The other day he had to do a mercy killing, and… well, it wasn't pretty. Good thing Francis was there, that's all I can say."

Arthur nodded. "Poor Matthew. I feel a bit better now, but…"

Alfred squeezed his shoulder. "I know. It's your job to save lives, not to take them. But think about it, that guy might've shot you or me, or Matthew, or Francis, or anyone else. So, in the end, maybe you did actually save a life, or more than one life."

The Brit looked into Alfred's clear, blue gaze, and couldn't stop himself from smiling a bit. "I suppose you're right."

_How do you always know just what to say? _He hoped he communicated that with his eyes, and maybe he did, because Alfred's eyes twinkled back at him, as if to say, _It's because I love you._

"C'mon Artie, we should get going."

"Right."

_I love you too._

…

January 3rd, 1945.

New Year's came and went, with just a _bit _of drinking and debauchery, and Arthur leading the men in a – surprisingly good – rendition of Auld Lang Syne. Who would've guessed that so many soldiers were secretly in church choirs back home?

A few days later, Alfred was still talking about it. "Seriously, I didn't know you could sing!"

"Yes, Alfred I know. But remember, I didn't know you were quite the handyman until only about a month ago."

"Well, yeah, I guess. But still!"

"Do shut up."

"Yes, please, stop your yammering. I am certain zat everyone is tired of 'earing it."

"No one asked you, Francis."

The Frenchman put his hands up defensively. "Hey now, I thought we were supposed to be 'aving a tactical meeting, not a 'praise Arthur's singing' meeting."

"Right, sorry." They were all in Arthur and Alfred's tent, Francis and Alfred deciding where they would go next. The American tapped the map with his pointer finger. "I say it's high time we take back Reims."

"Yes, zat is an excellent idea. Ze Germans will likely not be expecting it, and I say we should take a few officers prisoner."

"For what, ransom?"

"No, no, of course not! As a symbol zat we are taking back France. Also, maybe zey would be willing to cooperate with us, give us information on the movement of troops, etcetera."

"Oh, okay. Yeah, that's a good idea. So we take a couple important-ish guys as our… diplomatic prisoners?"

"_Exactement. _We will treat zem well, of course, to show 'ow civilized we are."

"Let's just hope they're gonna be as civilized as us."

…

January 6th, 1945.

They were. Well, one of them was. The men they had taken prisoner, two officers, had been residing in the mayor's house in Reims. Now, of course, they were in the prison, sharing a cell for the time being. Francis and Alfred were on their way to talk to the men, and Arthur had been told to come along.

"You know, in case one of them is injured or something."

"Of course."

One of the men was pacing back and forth in the cell, muttering under his breath in German while the other stared out the window, looking utterly bored. Both snapped to attention when they heard a door swing shut behind the three men.

Alfred waved at them while still halfway down the hall. "I hope you guys speak English or French, since none of us speak German very well."

The man who was pacing shook his short, almost-white hair out of his face, narrowed his eyes and said something Arthur couldn't decipher, but judging by his expression, wasn't very nice. The other man glared at his cellmate and said something short and harsh before turning to Alfred. "I apologize for my… companion. We both speak English, and I speak some French."

"Oh, good. That'll sure make things easier. So, Mr…"

"Beilschmidt. Ludwig Beilschmidt." He stuck his hand through the bars and shook all three men's hands, who introduced themselves in turn. "Zis," he jerked his head at the white-haired man, "Is my brother, Gilbert. He was the one in charge, so if you need any information, he's the one to talk to." When no one spoke, he raised an eyebrow. "I presume you _do _want information from us?"

Francis shook his head. "Not right away. We were more concerned zat you might 'ave been injured."

Ludwig and Gilbert's eyebrows went up, and the older brother spoke in English for the first time. "Really? Now _zat's _a first. But hey, if you vant to take care of us, all ze better. I'm fine. You are too, right Lud?"

Ludwig shook his head. "I'm afraid my leg was injured."

Arthur nodded. "I suppose that's where I come in." He motioned for Alfred to unlock the cell. "I've got all my supplies on me, so I'm prepared. But I'll warn you now, if you try to hurt me or to escape, you won't like the consequences."

"Not a problem."

Arthur dressed Ludwig's wound, keeping an eye on Gilbert the whole time. Something about him just didn't quite seem… trustworthy. Maybe it was the toothy grins he kept shooting Arthur, or maybe his eye colour was just a bit unnerving. Either way, Arthur didn't like the way he was chatting to Alfred.

_Stay away from my man, you creepy albino kraut._

He stepped out of the cell, nodding at Ludwig. "I'll come by later to check on that. Do you have any requests…?"

Ludwig glanced at Gilbert. "Do I really have to share a cell with _zis_ idiot? I get enough of him at home as it is."

Arthur smirked and raised an eyebrow at Alfred. "That sounds reasonable enough, wouldn't you agree?"

"I guess. Okay then, right this way."

Once Ludwig was in his own cell, Arthur left, letting Francis and Alfred take care of any formalities. He met up with them again later, and Francis chuckled. "Well, ze one man seems rather strange, doesn't he?"

"You could say that again. At least the other seems fairly sane." Arthur sighed.

Alfred shrugged. "You're probably gonna be talking to him more than me. How 'bout you find out?"

Not a bad idea, really… maybe he could actually learn a bit about what the other side thought about this whole war. Arthur noticed that both Alfred and Francis were carrying belts and shoelaces, and it confused him. "Why…?"

"In case they try to hang themselves."

"Oh." The Brit winced. "That'd be… unpleasant."

"No kidding. I don't exactly wanna find that, you know?"

"Me either. _Bon, mes amis,_ shall we go to dinner? I'm sure ze rest of ze men are wondering where we are by now."

…

January 8th, 1945.

Over the past couple days, Arthur had been routinely checking up on Ludwig. He was pleasant enough company, if a little standoffish. Arthur made small talk with him while changing his bandages, since the cell was too quiet otherwise.

"If you don't mind me asking, what made you join the military?"

"I don't mind. It wasn't voluntary, I was drafted. And originally, I wasn't on ze front lines."

"Oh? What did they have you do?"

"I was part of a truck crew."

"Truck… crew?"

Ludwig nodded. "We were in charge of transporting deported Jews to camps."

"I see." Arthur tied a knot on the bandages. "I'd heard rumours about that, but I didn't know whether or not it was true."

"It's very true, unfortunately." Ludwig stared at his boots. "I was only sent to the front lines after…" He trailed off, fidgeting with a button on his coat.

"After what?" Arthur prompted him, curious.

"I let a truckload of prisoners go free. After I saw firsthand where we were taking zem, what would happen to zem, I couldn't do my job anymore. At ze next opportunity, I pulled my truck over and let zem loose near ze Swiss border. I don't know how many survived, _if_ any survived, but…"

Arthur nodded. "I understand. You did your part to save lives, and that's something to be proud of."

"Not in Germany." Ludwig sighed. "Zey sent me out here to die after what I did. We can't win zis war, and everyone knows it, but my country will do everything possible to take down ze Allies with it."

The medic shook his head. "For everyone's sake, let's hope they don't succeed."

"Agreed. And I would like to apologise for all ze damage my country has caused yours."

"And I'd like to apologise for what _my_ country has done to yours as well." They shook hands, and Arthur sighed. "It never fails to surprise me, how people from opposing sides of any disagreement can get along if you give them a chance to talk. Even in a war like this. It makes you wonder what we're fighting for in the first place, doesn't it?"

"Yes. If only our leaders could see eye to eye like we can."

"Indeed. Well, I'd best be going. Until tomorrow, Mr. Beilschmidt."

"Until tomorrow, Herr Kirkland."

Alfred was waiting for Arthur outside and surprised him with a hug. "Sneak attack! So, how's the sour-kraut?"

"Alfred!"

"Sorry, sorry. Bad joke. I've been talking with Gilbert, and I think he's rubbing off on me. So, what'd you and Ludwig talk about?"

"The war. You?"

"Food, beer, our families… normal stuff."

"Ah."

"So, have you heard?"

"Heard what?"

"We're gonna be moving on pretty soon. The guys who are staying here will be sending the Beilschmidt brothers back home too pretty soon. Hey, wouldja look at that, I got their name right! Sure, German is fine, but _French_... ugh. Anyways, aren't we nice for letting them go?"

"I suppose. I just hope they won't get persecuted for giving us any information."

Alfred frowned. "Hadn't really thought about that. Damn. Well, I guess we'll just have to hope for the best. That's what this whole war's about, right?"

Arthur shook his head. "I don't quite follow."

"You know, be optimistic, be sure you'll make it, and you will!"

"What, is that your logic?"

"It's served me pretty damn well so far, you know. So I'm sticking to it!"

…

January 10th, 1945.

They bade farewell to Ludwig and Gilbert that morning, leaving them in the care of the Resistance, and heading off to continue the fight. Francis and Matthew were walking together, and the Frenchman was telling him all about the place they were heading towards—well, the place they were hoping to drive the Germans out of.

"Once we reach Alsace, you will see how charming ze little villages are. How hardy, as well. Zey 'ave been burned down, pillaged and destroyed for centuries, but ze people keep rebuilding."

"They're that stubborn, eh? Either that or the land is really valuable."

"Oh, it is. Ze foothills of the Vosges are excellent for wine grapes, and ze Rhine valley 'as rich soil."

"Sounds a bit like back home," Alfred piped up, "Except for the wine part. Ohio's not exactly big wine country, you know?" He sighed. "Man, we've had our break from the fighting… who's ready for more?"

Everyone grumbled a bit, and Alfred nodded. "Yeah, me neither. But hey, we gotta do our jobs. The faster this is over, the better."

"I couldn't agree more." Arthur stopped to tie his shoelace, and Alfred stopped with him. "The sooner this is all over, the sooner everyone can go home to their families."

"Except for you and me."

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Oh? I had assumed you'd want to be with your family for a couple months."

"Well, yeah, but…"

"Don't worry about me. I'll have things of my own to take care of, you know. Getting things settled will take a while."

Alfred nodded and grinned. "Right. Well, I guess you should take all the time you need. As long as you come home to me at some point, of course."

"Of course. But let's not jump the gun, so to speak. Who knows how much longer we'll be stuck doing this, hm?"

"I betcha it'll only be a few more months. I can stay alive that long, I'm sure of it."

"Oh, really?"

"Yep." Alfred winked at Arthur. "Especially since I've got what I'm fighting for right in front of me."

"Git." Arthur elbowed him in the ribs. "Hurry up, we're falling behind."

"Love you too, Artie."

"Hmph."

Truth be told, he was only marching off to hide the smile on his face and his probably-blushing cheeks. _He doesn't need to know what kind of effect those sappy, stupid, wonderful little comments have on me. I'd never live it down._

End Ch. 9

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading, and thank you for all the feedback!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello everyone! So, here's the tenth chapter, at long last. There will be a few more to go, of course, so I'll keep on working!**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

February 16th, 1945.

About a month had passed since they left Reims, and their progress eastward had been slow but steady. Everyone was hoping that the Germans would give up already, but they never once seemed prepared to surrender. This worried Arthur a bit, and he was talking with Francis (something he usually avoided) about their tactics.

"You don't think they're really going to fight to the last man, do you?"

"I certainly 'ope not. Zey are going to 'ave a difficult enough time rebuilding ze country without ze men who 'ave already been killed, so if any more lives are lost…" Francis shook his head.

"And it doesn't help one bit that my people have been bombing them to smithereens."

"No, it doesn't. Even if it is revenge for ze Blitz, I don't find it very noble. Especially coming from such a 'gentlemanly' country as yours."

"It wasn't my decision, don't look at me like that."

Francis shrugged. "It is only normal. We tend to blame ze citizens of nations for what ze leaders do, yes?"

"True, very true. That's why I blame you for your country's pathetic behaviour, and Alfred for his country's pigheadedness."

"What was that about me being pigheaded?"

Of course, Alfred had to pick the absolute _worst_ time to show up. Francis smirked evilly and vanished somehow, leaving Arthur to deal with a less-than-impressed American sergeant.

"Bloody_ git!_"

"Who, me? That's not very nice, Arthur."

Alfred usually only called him that when he was worried, angry, or being very serious. Great.

"Not you, idiot, Francis."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "So now I'm an idiot. Good to know."

"Oh, don't be so pissy. Besides, I wasn't calling _you _pigheaded, I was referring to America as a whole."

"I see."

"Honestly, sometimes it's like dealing with a woman. Say she cooked something with too much fat, and she accuses you of calling her fat. Say that Americans are morons, you think I'm calling you a moron."

"I thought I was an idiot." Alfred grinned and elbowed Arthur, who saw that he was joking all along.

He sighed. "You are a downright pain in the arse, that's what you are."

"Literally _and_ figuratively, right?"

Arthur cast his eyes skyward. "Why me? Why must I get saddled with such an immature pest of a man?"

"Hey, be nice. I was only joking."

"And so was I."

"Seriously?"

"Of course."

Alfred huffed. "You really need to work on your sarcastic voice, then."

"You need to work on your hearing."

"Not my fault I've been slowly deafened by grenades over the past six months."

Arthur tilted his head. "It's been that long since you left the hospital already?"

"Yeah. Crazy, right? I mean, a lot's happened these past few months, but…"

"Time flies."

"It sure does. Hopefully the rest of this will go just as fast, right?"

"With you by my side, I certainly hope it will."

…

February 24th, 1945.

"You guys are awful close, aren't ya?" One of the soldiers asked Arthur, smiling as he pointed at Alfred. They were marching along, though not in parade formation, everyone was just milling about on the road.

Despite the young man's apparently clueless attitude, Arthur decided to be very careful. "Yes, we're good friends. He was my patient for quite some time a few months back, and we discovered that we got along quite well."

"Must be nice. All my friends are back home, and no one here's friendly enough, yanno?"

"I suppose." Arthur couldn't quite tell if the soldier was just being nice, or if he was actually making a move on him. "I've made a few fast friends I would almost consider like brothers."

"Like Sergeant Jones?"

"Yes, he's one of them."

_What are you getting at?_

"Well, you're sure lucky. No one here seems to want the kind of friendship I want." The soldier edged a bit closer to him, and Arthur sighed to himself.

_Oh dear._

Alfred popped up suddenly, maybe sensing Arthur's distress. "Hey Artie, what's up?"

"Oh, not much."

He put an arm around Arthur's shoulders in a way that would seem totally normal to anyone watching, but that Arthur knew mean 'back off, he's taken'.

Apparently the other soldier understood, or maybe he just felt the hostile vibes behind Alfred's smile, because he left with a little wave. Alfred sighed. "Creep. He came onto me a little while ago."

"Maybe he just didn't know. You and I have been rather discreet, after all."

"Yeah, maybe… but still, stay away from guys like him."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "In case you didn't notice, _he _approached _me_ and was acting completely normal at first."

"Okay, fine. But I don't want other guys coming near you like that. If they try, they're gonna have to go through me."

"I could say the same to you."

Alfred smirked. "Well, no offense, but you're not exactly a force to be reckoned with."

Arthur glared at him. "We've been over this before, I'm tougher than I look."

"I know, I'm just kidding ya! But seriously, where do you hide your muscle?"

"You tell me."

Alfred shrugged, smiling slyly. "True, if anyone knew, it'd be me, right?"

"Keep your voice down!"

"Aw, c'mon, there's no one around to hear."

"The walls have ears." Arthur looked around and frowned. "Rather, the_ trees_ have ears."

"The complications of not being indoors. Hey, but when you say 'knock on wood' there's always plenty around!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "How about we focus on what we're supposed to be doing, hm?"

"But that's boring! Well, I'd better get back in front then, 'cuz Mr. Hero-guy is in charge here."

"Of course."

Alfred had certainly perfected his 'I'm the boss around here and I know exactly what I'm doing' alpha-dog strut, and Arthur was surprised by the effect it had on the men. They saluted him when he walked past or stood up a little straighter, and it made the Brit snicker a little. _Anyone _could make themself look important by walking like that. Hell, it was probably how Francis stayed in charge, judging by his stride. Except he was limping a bit. How odd.

Arthur frowned and grabbed Matthew's arm. "Is Francis hurt or something?"

"What? No, not that I know of. Why?"

"He's limping."

"Oh. Well, he must have a rock in his shoe or something, he wasn't doing that earlier."

"Matthew, why are you blushing?"

"Blushing? I'm not blushing. I'm sure he just stubbed his toe or has something in his shoe." The Canadian looked off to the side, away from Arthur, and the medic sighed.

"You don't have to lie to me, you know."

"I'm not lying."

"Yes you are. You always do that with your eyebrows when you lie."

"Shut up."

Arthur shrugged. "All right, whatever you say. Maybe he _does _have something in his shoe."

"Exactly."

"So did you have a stone in your shoe last week?"

Maybe he was being a _little _cruel, but Matthew was asking for it. Besides, no one could hear him, and Matthew always got flustered. And _that_ was always funny.

Matthew tripped over a rock, coughing violently, and Arthur laughed in his head. _Victory! Arthur seven, Matthew zero._

Then the other man composed himself a bit. "Maybe I did. But you haven't for _quite _a while, have you?"

Arthur frowned. _Ouch. Arthur seven, Matthew one._

"Shut up."

"Oh, did I hit a nerve?"

"I said, shut up."

"I'm sure things will look up soon enough, if you catch my drift."

Matthew giggled a bit, and Arthur rolled his eyes. "You're more like Alfred than you realize."

"Since pretty much all the soldiers seem to have strange little man-crushes on him, I think I'm okay with that. But you'd better get a good hold on him before one of these desperate, sex-deprived men gets desperate enough."

"I'd say I have a pretty good hold on him." Matthew laughed again, and Arthur sighed. "Really, boy?"

"Sorry. I'm just taking every opportunity I can to laugh. You never know when something bad is going to happen, eh?"

"I suppose you're right."

_We haven't been on the very front lines for a couple weeks, but we're sure to be moved up in a little while. Back into hell we'll go. The real question is, how many of us will make it back out again?_

…

March 13th, 1945.

Back to the front lines. Grenades. Flames. Explosions. Bullets flying. Cries of pain, of fear, of despair. Too much to do, not enough time. Arthur was having to make decisions on who to save, which life would be more valuable, and he felt it would kill him.

Who was worth more, the boy with the wide, terrified eyes, or the man whose mouth was set in a grim, firm frown? He couldn't choose. And if he didn't act quickly, both of them would die. But if he chose wrong, they would both die anyways. So many decisions like this, and some of them he made wrong.

One of these choices was between a pair of brothers who held each other's hands and tried to keep each other calm while Arthur played the Grim Reaper. In the end, he didn't have to choose, but only because Matthew came over to help. Without the chaplain, he knew he never could have made up his mind over who deserved to live.

What would happen if someday, Matthew _wasn't _there? Would he just stand there and let both men bleed out? It was killing him slowly, even more so when he was told to perform a mercy killing. The soldier begged for it, pushing his gun into Arthur's hands as he gurgled on his lifeblood, knowing himself that there was no way he could survive that kind of wound, that it would cause him agonizing hours of suffering.

But Arthur's hands shook when he took the gun, and he broke down after pulling the trigger. He hadn't cried in so long, but now he couldn't stop. "Damn… damn this bloody war to hell!" He tossed the gun to the side and knelt on the ground, covering his face with both hands until someone pulled them away.

"Arthur. Hey, you're okay. Come on, we can't stay here." Hands dragged him to his feet, warm arms wrapped around his torso, and Arthur recognized the person as his lover. "It's okay, Arthur. I'm here."

"Al, I…"

"Yeah." Alfred squeezed him and pressed a brief kiss to his forehead. "But you can't think about it right now, okay? We gotta keep moving."

But what if, someday, it would be Alfred begging Arthur to pull the trigger? He wouldn't be able to, not even to spare his love the hours of pain and suffering he would face. What if he ever had to make a choice between Alfred and someone else, someone who would have a better chance of survival? He wouldn't be able to.

Arthur realized he was compromised where it came to dealing with Alfred, and it scared him. He could only hope nothing would ever happen to him.

…

March 21st, 1945.

The first day of spring, with its delicate blossoms, unfurling leaves, and gently burbling creeks was interrupted by the shouts, gunfire, and thundering boots of the two opposing fronts as they clashed by the Alsatian border. Now that the Germans were almost back in their home country, almost out of the nation they had occupied for so long, they seemed to be fighting even more ferociously. If that was even possible.

The Allied troops were doing their best, pushing them back more and more, but not at a low cost. Many men had died, and Francis had seen a good friend of his fall to German guns. Despite Matthew and Arthur's joint efforts, the man didn't make it. Francis seemed to change then, showing a much darker, angrier side than anyone had ever seen before. With a cry of rage, he had stormed forward, shooting down a dozen Germans with each round of bullets from his gun.

That let them gain quite a bit of ground, but it worried Arthur. Since only Matthew had been able to calm him down, what would happen if Matthew ever took a bullet? Since Francis had spun around and pulled a knife on Matthew, only stopping once he saw who he was, what would happen if Matthew couldn't get up to stop him? Would Francis keep going until he too was gunned down? It seemed probable to Arthur and he vowed secretly to keep the Canadian as safe as he could.

Now, a few days after that, Arthur was keeping a close eye on his friend when he heard a familiar voice yell, "Shit! I've been hit!" Alfred staggered to his knees, clutching his arm, and Arthur tripped over himself trying to reach him.

_No, please no! No, no, no!_

"Alfred!"

"I'm all right, it's just my arm."

Arthur pushed him down flat on the ground and ripped his lover's sleeve with his hands, panicking. "It could still be bad. If it's…" he gasped. The cloth was already soaked with blood, and Arthur's hands were shaking.

_Please no, don't let this happen!_

Bright red blood was dripping down Alfred's arm, and Arthur shook his head. "It pierced an artery. God, no! Matthew, I need you, NOW!"

Alfred furrowed his eyebrows. "What does that mean?"

"It's bad. Don't move, please, just stay calm. If your heart speeds up, you'll only bleed out faster."

"Bleed out?"

"Calm down, please." Arthur was still shaking, talking to himself just as much as he was to Alfred.

Matthew ran over. "You called? Oh, that looks bad… let me get my tourniquet." He tied the knot around Alfred's upper arm, patting the soldier on the other shoulder. "We'll fix you up. Arthur, did you at least get the bullet out?"

"Yes, I did. I'm working on clamping the artery now."

Alfred seemed surprised. "Huh. I didn't feel you pull it out. Hey, is it normal that I'm feeling kind of dizzy?"

Arthur's heart skipped a beat and his hands shook even more. Matthew took over, sensing his terror.

_He's going into shock._

"Alfred, stay with me."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You'd better not." Oh god, he was crying again, wasn't he? "I lost you once, I'm not losing you again!"

Arthur's hands were covered in blood, but he didn't really care. He took Alfred's face in his hands, searching the soldier's eyes for something to reassure him. He couldn't tell if Alfred was pale or cold, but the other man smiled, and Arthur felt a bit better. Until Alfred's eyes rolled back into his head, that is.

"Shit! He passed out!"

"He's alive Arthur, I've got in under control. It's okay."

"It is absolutely _not _okay!" Arthur grabbed Alfred's wrist and felt for a pulse, not sure if he could feel one or not, then bent over to feel if he was breathing. If the warm, damp air that ruffled his hair was any indication, then Alfred was breathing. He sighed in relief, laying his head on Alfred's torso, hearing his heartbeat and feeling his chest rise and fall.

They carried him off the battlefield on a stretcher, Arthur routinely checking on him. The soldier only woke up once he was in a tent, once all his soldiers had been ordered to pull back and were replaced by a new unit, and once Matthew, Francis, and Arthur were gathered around him.

He blinked his eyes a few times, looking around with a confused smile. "Wow. How the hell did I get here?"

Arthur, who had been pretty much holding his breath, nearly collapsed, kneeling by Alfred's side and taking his hand. "I carried you, of course. With some help."

"I was gonna say, you'd have to be pretty damn strong to carry me all on your own."

They touched foreheads, smiling, and Arthur squeezed Alfred's hand. "You had me worried, passing out like that."

"Sorry, couldn't help it. But I'm alive, right?"

"Yes, you are. And I'm very happy about that."

Francis cleared his throat from where he stood with one arm around Matthew's waist. "I will go tell everyone zat you are alive and well, with your dedicated medic friend 'ere to take care of you."

"Please do! Thanks, Matthew, by the way." Alfred smiled and waved at them with his good arm.

The Canadian smiled. "It was nothing. Glad I could help a friend in need."

They left, leaving Arthur and Alfred alone. Arthur looked down at the ground. "I'm sorry."

"Huh? Why?"

"I couldn't save you on my own. I panicked."

Alfred shook his head. "It's okay. I wouldn't be able to focus if you got hurt either, so I get it."

"But if Matthew hadn't been there-"

"But he was. So it's okay." Alfred stretched his arm and sighed. "I'm not gonna be doing any heavy lifting for a while, am I?"

Arthur shook his head. "I'm afraid you'll be out of commission for quite some time, my dear."

"As long as you're here with me, I'm okay with that."

"I hope I will be."

…

March 25th, 1945.

He was. Their company remained within French borders, mostly serving as backup troops for anyone who needed the extra men. Francis and his people stayed as well, keeping a fierce watch on the border. And Arthur stayed by Alfred, still sharing a tent with him, doing everything he could to help Alfred recover. He wanted to go for a walk? Arthur went with him. He wanted water? Arthur got it for him. He wanted to nap? Arthur took off his glasses for him, tucked him in, and told him a story or sang him to sleep, occasionally cradling Alfred's head in his lap, stroking his hair while he slept.

That was exactly what he was doing right then, just happy to spend time with Alfred when there was a bit of peace. It reminded him of what they could have after the war, and made Arthur want it to end even more. He drifted off into dreamland, tracing his fingers up and down Alfred's cheek. Their own little place out in the country where no one could bother them, reading together by the fire on winter nights, working out in the garden side-by-side, watching the stars come out one by one on those warm summer nights… he could see it already, and it made him both incredibly embarrassed and incredibly happy to think about such wonderfully sappy things.

He heard someone say his name and snapped out of his thoughts, looking down at his now-awake lover. "What is it, love?"

"You were looking off into space with that little smile on your face again. Whatcha thinking 'bout?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Well then," Alfred reached up and brushed a lock of Arthur's hair out of his face. "As long as it was about me, I don't really care."

Arthur bent down and kissed his forehead. "Good, because I'm not telling you." He passed Alfred his glasses. "At least, not yet."

"Someday?"

"Maybe."

"That's good enough, I guess, even though I wish I knew everything that goes through your head. But then again, you wouldn't be nearly so interesting if I did."

"Bloody flatterer." It slipped out before Arthur could stop it, that little comment he used to cover up what he really felt.

Alfred just smiled. "See? If I knew what you were actually thinking there, I wouldn't have to guess for myself what you actually meant. By the way, I love you too." He whispered the last part even quieter than usual, making Arthur lean down to hear it and then sneakily planting a kiss on Arthur's cheek

Arthur sighed, but he smiled, looking down at his wonderful, infuriating lover. _You're a hopeless fool. Of course, I'm talking about myself this time._

…

March 31st, 1945.

It had been cloudy and cool for a few days, threatening to rain but never letting down more than a soft drizzle. Then, all of a sudden, it started pouring. Men who had been sitting around outside ran for their tents, yelling about 'heading for shelter' and making an unnecessary fuss. Arthur himself had been out for a short walk and sprinted back to the tent, swearing under his breath. Despite his best efforts, he was soaked by the time he got back.

Alfred had been napping but woke up when Arthur burst into the tent, shaking his wet hair and flinging droplets everywhere. "Jeez Artie, what happened?"

"It's raining."

"Yeah, I can tell. Man, how far away were you?"

"About a kilometre." He sighed. "You wouldn't happen to have any dry clothes I could wear, would you?"

"Not really… but I can get you a towel." Alfred rummaged around in his bag, and in the meantime Arthur took off his shirt and undershirt. "Found it!" Alfred spun around, holding a towel over his head, then blinked a few times. "Wow, you're fast. And here I was hoping you'd take a nice long time stripping."

"Shut it, you. And where's your sling? I thought I told you to wear it when you're moving about."

"Yeah, and I've been up for all of twenty seconds. Chill out." He draped the towel around Arthur's shoulders and kissed him on the head. "Scratch that last, you feel pretty cold. How long do you think the rain's gonna last?"

"That depends. If the thunderheads I saw in the East move in, it could last all night."

"So… everyone's on their own for food, huh?"

"Highly probable. My guess is that everyone will be rained in tonight."

"Cool." Alfred rubbed his shoulders. "Now let's get you out of those wet clothes. Your feet have gotta be freezing by now."

His feet _were _quite cold, as was the rest of his body. So Arthur wrapped a blanket around himself after drying off and laying his clothes out to dry. Alfred, being the wonderful heat-radiator that he was, had Arthur sit in his lap and wrapped his arms around him. He rocked back and forth a bit, and Arthur could feel him smiling against the back of his neck.

_And you call me a sap._

After they had eaten, the thunderclouds moved in, and the sound of the pouring rain was occasionally punctuated with bright flashes of lightning and loud, violent thunder. It was dark by then, and since they really had nothing better to do, Arthur proposed they just try to sleep.

"There's nothing we can do to make the storm pass over any faster, after all."

"Yeah." Alfred took off the sling Arthur had made him wear and lay down. When Arthur went to lie down on his own cot, Alfred caught his wrist and pulled him onto his chest.

"Just what do you think you're doing?"

"Trying to keep you warm, of course. Your clothes are still soaked, right?"

"Yes, but-"

"No one's gonna come in. Just get your blankets too, okay?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and pushed Alfred over to the side. "Then scoot over. You're too big."

"Hey, it's all muscle."

"I didn't say anything about that." Arthur snuggled up to Alfred while pretending he wasn't doing anything of the sort. It didn't seem to work, since Alfred wrapped his arms around him with a chuckle. Arthur protested, "Hey! Don't move your injured arm!"

"Sorry, sorry. I thought you might appreciate a little extra body heat, that's all."

Arthur huffed and curled up against his lover. "This is fine."

"Okay, whatever you say, Artie."

Arthur sighed, moving as close to Alfred as he could. But despite how cozy he was, how nice and warm it was under the blankets, Arthur couldn't even _begin_ to drift off. Not just because of the thunder, either. Maybe he was just a little too aware of how muscled Alfred was under his shirt, how close together they were at that time, of all the different things they could do in their current position.

Maybe he was letting his mind wander a little too much, imagining himself gripping those strong, tanned arms as Alfred—no, he shouldn't have thought about that. Now he definitely wasn't going to be able to get to sleep. He closed his eyes, burrowing his face into Alfred's neck in an attempt to block out those thoughts. Somehow, the way Alfred's skin smelled didn't help one bit… no, it made it worse.

He felt Alfred shift slightly and he wondered, _does he feel it too? _He searched for Alfred's pulse with his lips and smiled to himself when he felt that Alfred's heart was beating a little faster than usual. _He definitely feels it._ _Well, it __has__ been a while._

He heard Alfred mutter to himself, probably thinking Arthur was already asleep, "Dammit… and I can't even do anything about it with him right there."

"What can't you do with me here?"

When Alfred jumped, Arthur smirked to himself. _I was right again._

"Um… you know…"

"No, I don't."

"Are you seriously gonna make me say it?" In the brief flash of lightning that lit up the tent, it looked like Alfred was blushing. He grabbed Arthur's hand and placed it on his groin, letting him feel the bulge that was slowly growing there.

"Ah, so _that's _what you meant." Arthur rubbed his hand over it slowly, smiling when Alfred tensed a bit. "Do you want me to help you with that?"

"Would you?"

Arthur kissed him on the cheek. "Of course, my love." He rolled Alfred onto his back and straddled him. "But since your arm is injured, I don't want you doing any of the work, all right?"

"Okay… so what are you going to do?" Alfred sounded genuinely curious, and Arthur could feel his own heart thudding in anticipation.

"Just wait and see." He unbuttoned Alfred's shirt, opening it all the way, and moved down, pulling his pants and underclothes out of the way. Alfred wasn't quite all the way hard yet, so Arthur moved back up, kissing him deeply and running his hands over Alfred's shoulders, chest, and back, knowing that the soldier liked it almost as much as he did.

When he felt something poke his thigh, he smirked, pulling away from the kiss. Alfred groaned in disappointment, but Arthur just winked at him, scooting down his lover's body until he was face-to-face with his erection. _That _shut Alfred up, and when Arthur glanced up to see how he was doing, he saw that the other man was fumbling for his glasses.

Once he had them on, Arthur took him in hand, then closed his lips around the head. Alfred moaned softly, keeping his eyes on Arthur the whole time. So he worked his way down, careful to keep his teeth out of the way. He felt his own cock throb inside his underpants at the warm, thick, salty flesh in his mouth, and clenched his fists into the blankets for a moment. If he had thought the way the crook of Alfred's neck smelled was lust-inducing, then _this_ was downright intoxicating. A bit like sweat, yes, but somehow manly, musky, and unbelievably sexy.

He groaned, and was surprised when Alfred's head fell back a bit, mouth open in a silent moan. He moved himself up and down the shaft, letting his tongue stroke it occasionally and humming every once in a while just to see Alfred clench his fists and shake like that.

Arthur was glad for the storm, the booming thunder that almost blocked the soft gasps and moans coming from Alfred. Not that he didn't want the hear them—quite the contrary. He just didn't want anyone else hearing them.

When he felt Alfred start bucking up his hips a bit, saw him scrunch up his brow a little as though he was concentrating, he pulled back for a moment. "Let it go," he whispered, then dove back and covered Alfred with his mouth just in time. The soldier groaned long and low, and Arthur felt warm, salty spurts filling his mouth. It was a bit bitter, but he swallowed anyways. He knew it was worth it when he sat up and saw the look on Alfred's face: surprised, awe-filled, and completely blown away.

"Wow. I didn't even know people did that."

"And now you do." Arthur wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand, then gasped when Alfred pulled him into a kiss. He could tell he was trembling a bit, his arousal only haven grown stronger. When Alfred's hand slipped into his underclothes, feeling him and then pulling them down, he sighed in relief.

Alfred moved so he was on his hands and knees, his head in Arthur's lap, and the Brit tilted his head. "What are you—oh…"

Alfred had licked the head, catching the fluid that pooled there. "Just returning the favor."

And return it he did, making Arthur steady himself with one hand. The other hand he used to stroke Alfred's head, threading his fingers through his lover's hair when the pleasure was too much. And when he reached his peak, crying out as softly as he could manage, he tried his very hardest not to pull Alfred's hair.

Alfred pulled back when Arthur was completely finished, swallowing what was in his mouth and sitting up to kiss Arthur. The medic held up one hand. "Ah, wait a moment. You've got a little…" he leaned forward and licked a spot of white off of Alfred's cheek, then allowed his lover to capture his lips for a kiss. They lay down slowly, keeping their lips connected and helping each other pull their underclothes back up.

When they were comfortably settled under the blankets, limbs entwined, Arthur sighed happily. "Guess what?"

"What?"

"I'm not cold anymore."

Alfred laughed quietly and kissed him on the nose. "Glad to hear it. Love you."

"Love you too." Arthur was finally sleepy, sated, and fully content to drift off snuggled against his lover like that.

Alfred seemed to feel the same way, yawning before closing his eyes and murmuring, "G'night, Artie."

"Good night, poppet."

…

April 3rd, 1945.

"Alfred F. Jones, you lucky sonuvabitch!" A soldier who was leading a new group of men in from the West ran up to Alfred and clapped him on the back.

"Clark, is that you?"

"You betcha!"

Alfred grabbed his hand, shaking it firmly. "Man, I haven't seen you since we first got over here!"

"I know! That Wiggins kid told me about what happened to you guys back in November. You guys are seriously lucky."

"Yeah, I know." It was evening, and they were gathered around the fire eating dinner. Alfred gestured to Arthur. "Oh yeah, this is Arthur. He's a buddy of mine and also my medic."

Arthur shook the soldier's hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Yeah. I'm Clark, by the way. Sergeant Clark Jones."

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Oh, are you two related?" They certainly didn't look alike.

Alfred shook his head. "Nah. Or if we are, we're like fourth cousins or something. We met at boot camp back in the States."

"I see."

Alfred turned to Clark. "So, how's it going?"

"Man, you'll never guess what happened last week! You remember James?"

"Yeah, what about him?"

"He got sent home! Got his leg blown clean off, the poor bastard."

"What? Really?"

"Yep. I was right next to him when it happened. His girlfriend's gonna be _pissed_. You know, he promised he wouldn't lose any limbs."

Alfred winced. "Yikes. Well, some of us can't keep all our promises."

Clark nodded. "True. Well, I've kept mine so far! Okay, so I got my toe shot off, but…"

"Your _toe?_"

"Yep! It's a long story. Wanna see?"

Arthur made a face. "Not while we're eating, please."

Alfred nudged him. "Aw, get over it. you stitched me up right after breakfast that one time, remember?"

"But was I eating at the time?"

"Well… no. But still!"

Clark rolled his eyes. "Hey, your buddy's got a point. No need to turn this into a battle of wills. I'll show you later, 'kay?"

"Okay!"

"You know, you're pretty much the only one out of our old training group who hasn't lost any body parts yet. Pete lost an ear, Ben lost his foot, Jack lost his thumb-"

"Yeah, I know, he's here too. Arthur's the one who fixed him up, actually!"

Clark laughed. "So you're the one who called him a bloody idiot and told him to stop squirming or you'd knock him out?"

"That sounds like me, yes." Arthur ignored the way Alfred was snickering, but subtly elbowed him in the ribs.

Clark pointed to the sling Alfred was still wearing. "So, I heard about how you got this little thing here. Man, you're a lucky guy."

"Whaddya mean? I can't use my arm for anything or Arthur hits me upside the head."

"Well, it's just that you got shot twice and survived just fine. You haven't lost any limbs, and the only thing you've got to show you ever got hurt are some awesome looking battle scars! Seriously, your guardian angel's gotta be working overtime."

"Oh, he is, trust me." Alfred smiled at Arthur, and the medic tilted his head, confused.

When they were alone, walking back to their tent, he muttered to Alfred, "What did you mean by that?"

"Hey, let's face it. Whenever I get hurt, you're there to drag me out of danger and you always fix me up afterwards. Who else here can say they've got a medic who'd do practically anything for them? So even if my arm's in a sling and I can't use it to do anything except eat, I'm the luckiest soldier over here."

"I suppose you're right." Arthur stared at his feet. Alfred smiled at him and took his hand, and Arthur had to smile back despite himself. "You know," he whispered, "If I was sure no one was around to see, I'd kiss you."

"Same here."

…

April 22nd, 1945.

Alfred's arm was almost completely healed, and the soldier was slowly working on regaining his strength, with a bit of help from Arthur. They had been informed that their unit was to remain where they were in order to set up a new hospital station, meaning Arthur was being swamped with work again. They had moved to the nearest town and were staying in the school, since the cafeteria and gymnasium were being used as the hospital, and the classrooms as soldiers' quarters. Arthur spent his days going back and forth from his room to the hospital rooms, and it was quite exhausting. At least it wasn't just himself and Matthew anymore, and that he was thankful for.

Still, there was too much to do and not enough time. After spending most of the day trying to help save the skin on a badly-burned soldier's back, he was completely wiped. And stiff. He went back to his room and sat on his cot with a sigh, stretching his neck and making a face when it popped.

Alfred grimaced as well. "That sounded like it either felt really good or hurt really bad."

"It hurt."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Actually, yes. There might be something you can do." Arthur shrugged off his white coat and shirt, trying to ignore the way Alfred's eyes darted up and down his torso briefly. He kicked off his shoes and motioned to Alfred. "Come over here. And no, it's probably not what you're hoping for."

Alfred shrugged. "Whatever you say." He sat next to Arthur. "What do you want me to do?"

"Are you any good at giving back rubs?"

"I dunno. Let's find out!"

Arthur rolled his eyes and lay down on his stomach, propping his head up with his hands. "Well, get to it."

"Yessir." Alfred climbed over him and got to work, a little harshly.

"Whoa, gently! I'm not a horse, boy!"

"Sorry. Better?"

"Yes. Like that."

Alfred wasn't half bad once he stopped trying to break Arthur's back, and though it wasn't quite enough to turn Arthur into a puddle of goo, it was still very nice. He felt considerably relaxed and sighed happily. "Ahh… that feels so much better."

"Mm." Alfred kissed him on the back of the head. "Glad to hear it. Are you ready for bed, or should I leave the lights on?"

"You can turn them off."

Alfred took his hands off Arthur's back and stood up. It felt a bit odd, sleeping in a classroom, but Arthur mused that it was no stranger than sleeping in a tent for months on end. Now, what _was_ strange was that he was still allowed to stay with Arthur, but he assumed that the soldier and Francis had pulled a few strings to make it possible. The Frenchman was more kind than Arthur liked to give him credit for, but he still only admitted to himself that Francis wasn't _completely _despicable.

Alfred locked the door, turned off the lights, and made his way back to the cots, tripping over something and swearing under his breath. Arthur lifted his head up. "You all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I just found my boots with my feet, that's all." He sat down on his cot and looked expectantly at Arthur.

The Brit raised an eyebrow. "What? Is there something on my face?"

"No… it's nothing." Alfred took off his shirt and pants, dropping them on the floor. "Nothing at all."

Arthur kicked off his pants. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah, really."

"Just as stubborn as ever, are we?"

"I could say the same about you."

Arthur chuckled and sat up enough to kiss his lover. "Well, if there's 'nothing at all', I suppose I'll just go to sleep." He stretched, yawning, before laying back and crossing his arms behind his head.

Alfred flopped onto his cot with a "Hmph," burying his face in the pillow.

"Love?"

"What?"

"Don't you think you should take off your glasses?"

Alfred lifted his head out of his pillow and looked over at Arthur. "No."

"What do you mean, 'no'?"

"I'm not going to just yet."

"And why would that be?"

Alfred sat up and pushed Arthur over in his cot. "Move."

Arthur smiled at Alfred, raising an eyebrow. "Well, _you're_ being rather direct for once."

"Whatever." Apparently though, his plan was to just kiss Arthur until they were both breathless, then take off his glasses and go to sleep.

Well, wasn't that frustrating. Arthur sighed, resigning himself to just cuddling up against Alfred. It did feel nice, how they were touching skin-on-skin pretty much everywhere, and it was comforting how they were tangled together on the tiny cot. Arthur pressed his face into Alfred's chest, kissing him softly, happy to fall asleep so close to his love.

…

May 7th, 1945.

Arthur was busy wiping blood off a young man's forehead and telling him to stay still when he heard someone thundering down the hallway, yelling loudly. The doors to the gym-hospital flew open. "It's over! We won! Everyone, listen up, the Germans have surrendered!" Alfred stood there, waving a piece of paper over his head and grinning like a maniac.

Everyone froze, turning to face the door, stupefied and wide-eyed. The room grew silent, until Arthur dropped his washcloth on the floor. That broke the strange quiet that pervaded the room and suddenly people were cheering, laughing, crying, and hugging each other.

Alfred ran up to him and practically scooped him up off his feet, squeezing Arthur to his chest. "We won, we won, we won! Can you believe it?"

"N-no, I can't. Let me see that!" He grabbed the piece of paper Alfred had been holding onto, which was actually a telegram. It confirmed the good news and he laughed, clapping a hand over his mouth. "My god, it _is _true! That's marvelous!"

"I know!" Alfred looked like he desperately wanted to grab Arthur and kiss him feverishly, and Arthur was beginning to feel a similar burning urge.

He turned to find the man he had been taking care of, only to see him talking excitedly to a friend of his, so Arthur shrugged. "Ah, to hell with it, let's get out of here."

They left the school as calmly as they could, running into a bit of a madhouse in the courtyard out front. The villagers had apparently taken it upon themselves to dance in the square, so Arthur took Alfred's hand and guided him through the crowd. Near the edge, he nearly ran into Francis and Matthew who were just holding hands and staring into each other's eyes. He didn't want to interrupt them, so he just pulled Alfred along after him.

Once they went down an empty alleyway and into a park, Arthur slipped out of sight behind a shrub. There he threw his arms around Alfred's neck and kissed him, overcome with happiness. The American's arms wrapped around him as well, one hand holding the back of his head as Alfred deepened the kiss. For some reason it felt more intense this time, maybe because of the pure emotion filtering into the kiss, or maybe just because Arthur felt so alive, he didn't know. He didn't really care, either, all he knew was that it was wonderful.

But eventually they had to breathe, and when he saw how flushed Alfred's cheeks were, how his eyes shone, he knew the other man felt it as well. "Artie…"

"Yes?"

"We won."

"I know."

"It's over."

"I know."

They crashed their lips together again, both of them letting out quiet moans this time. Arthur could feel his gut beginning to twist in anticipation, his trousers tightening, and he knew if they didn't stop soon they'd probably just end up rutting against each other, still hidden behind the bush. And that was no way to celebrate the end of a war. So he pulled back, fully able to sympathize with Alfred's disappointed groan.

"I know, but not here."

"If you're gonna keep me waiting, it had better be really damn good later."

"Trust me, it'll be worth it."

They emerged from behind the shrub, startling a pair of young Frenchwomen sitting on a bench, and one of them whipped her hand out from underneath the other's blouse. They stared blankly at each other for a couple moments before the two couples grabbed hands and headed in separate directions, all four people blushing.

When they were back on the city streets, Arthur chuckled quietly. "Now _that _was unexpected."

"I think they were just as surprised as us."

The celebrations in the square seemed to have died down a bit and moved to the local bars and taverns. A group of Alfred's men ran up to him, and there was much friendly hand-shaking, hugging, and babbling. They dragged him off and one soldier grabbed Arthur's arm. Oh dear. "Hey Arthur, you come too!"

Oh, it was Clark. Well, maybe this wouldn't be _too _bad. They joined the throngs of people in a bar, sitting down at a table, where everyone started talking at once. "Man, I can't believe it!"

"I know! We get to go home soon, how great is that?"

"It's awesome, that's how great it is. Hey, anyone wanna pick up a couple nice ladies with me?"

"Whoa now, some of us have girls back home."

"Not Al. You up for it?"

Alfred shook his head. "Nah. I'm good."

"What, so you _do_ have someone?"

Alfred shrugged, ordered a round of beers for everyone, then turned back to the soldier who had asked the question. "Well… yeah, pretty much."

"Ooh, lover-boy! How come we've never seen any pictures? She ugly or something?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow. _Let's see how he handles this. _"Yes Alfred, do tell."

He grinned around the table. "Nah, not ugly at all. My love's as gorgeous as they get. Legs a mile long, lovely smooth skin, and eyes like emeralds."

"Aw, listen to you! Someone's in love."

"Still no pictures though? What, is she shy or something?"

"You could say that."

"One of those delicate flower types, I bet."

Arthur rolled his eyes, and glared at Alfred when the soldier laughed. "You betcha." Alfred grinned at Arthur. "So, Artie, you've never told anyone here if you've got someone for you, right?"

Clark, who was sitting right next to Arthur, nudged him. "C'mon, tell us! You've got a girl?"

"And if I do?"

The man who had suggested picking up girls sighed. "What, am I seriously the only free man around here?"

"Well, you're only nineteen. Plenty of time to find a nice girl."

"Exactly. Unlike Arthur, you're not getting old just yet."

"Twenty-three is not old," Arthur protested.

"Whatever. So, tell us, what's your girl like?" Alfred waggled his eyebrows and Arthur, and the medic smirked.

"Well, quite a bit tougher than most."

"Farm girl?"

"Yes. Tall, tanned, rosy cheeks, and the most beautiful blue eyes in the world."

"Sounds like the good child-bearing type to me."

Alfred choked on his beer, but Arthur just laughed. "Don't say that around my sweetheart, or you risk getting your head bashed in."

"So not shy or bashful at all, huh? Good for you!"

They drank their beer and talked some more, everyone excited to be going home soon. While the other soldiers drank more, Alfred and Arthur each only had one beer. They ended up escorting the men back to the school. "This way, guys. Hey Clark, that's a lamppost!" Alfred pointed at his friend and muttered to Arthur, "Go get him, will you? Clark, stop trying to open the lamppost. They don't open like that."

"Really? But it looks like one of those… you know, the thingies. Yeah."

Arthur smirked, pushing Clark along. "Does it now? I hadn't noticed."

When they were back in their room, Arthur sighed happily and then raised an eyebrow at Alfred. "Child-bearing type, hm?"

"Oh shut up, delicate flower."

They both laughed, and Arthur locked the door behind them. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

"You tell me. You're the one who kept me waiting, after all."

"Yes, I suppose I did." Arthur tossed his coat onto the floor and unbuttoned the first button on his shirt when Alfred's hands stopped him.

"Wait, I want to do it."

"All right." Arthur let Alfred undress him, shivering happily when his shirt fell to the floor and Alfred pressed a line of kisses across his collarbone. They both kicked off their shoes, and Arthur reached out to take off Alfred's shirt as well. The first few buttons he managed just fine, but then Alfred's hand cupped his crotch and he had to struggle to stay focussed.

Once they were both shirtless, they kissed, hands roaming each other's torsos freely. Arthur moved them forward slowly until they reached one of the cots, and lay down so he could look up at Alfred. He undid the button on his pants, slipping a hand inside and smirking at the way Alfred's eyes widened slightly. "Come on, or are _you _planning to keep me waiting all night?"

Alfred grabbed one of their bags, digging around until he pulled out a small jar. "How do you want to do this?"

"You decide."

The soldier crawled on top of Arthur and smiled down at him, narrowing his eyes seductively. "I'm feeling a bit old-fashioned tonight. That okay with you?"

"Perfectly okay. Now hurry up and kiss me."

Alfred obliged, managing to take off both pairs of pants and underpants without so much as breaking the kiss, and Arthur only noticed they were both naked when he felt Alfred's erection press against his own. It caught him off guard and he moaned quietly, lifting his hips up for Alfred. The soldier slid a slick finger inside of him, kissing along Arthur's jaw and down his neck.

"More," Arthur murmured, pressing down against his lover's finger, so Alfred sped up a bit, stretching him as quickly as he could and lining himself up with Arthur's entrance.

"Ready?" he asked, brushing a lock of hair out of Arthur's eyes.

"I'm more than ready."

As soon as Alfred was inside, Arthur locked his legs around his hips, pulling him deeper. The slight pain was more than worth it, for the wonderful feeling of fullness, the pleasure that ate him from the inside out. Alfred couldn't seem to wait long, putting his hands on Arthur's hips and starting to thrust just when Arthur was about to tell him to move.

It was pure heaven, to be taken so completely by Alfred, to take him completely.

"Artie… god, I can't believe it…"

"Me either. Just always remember that—ngh, you're mine."

"And you're mine. Oh, Artie, I love you so much!"

"Not so loud, love. You know I love you too… ah! Al, please, more!" He kissed Alfred, muffling the sounds they made, tangling his hands in his lover's hair as they moved together, thrusting, rocking, creating the perfect friction.

Arthur was almost at the edge already, loving every moment of this. When Alfred suddenly stiffened and moaned loudly against his lips, Arthur felt a rush of liquid warmth fill him, getting so deep, and he cried out as that sent him over his limit. He came, covering himself and Alfred both.

Then Alfred lay down on top of him, cradling him gently, and Arthur couldn't help himself. He kissed every part of his lover he could reach, keeping his legs around Alfred, keeping him inside. "I love you."

"I love you too." Alfred kissed his forehead. "And as soon as I get us a place, I'm bringing you over the ocean to stay with me. Trust me."

"I trust you." Arthur buried his face in Alfred's soft hair, breathing in the smells of sweat and sex, starting to drift off. "Good night, my love."

"Goodnight."

…

May 14th, 1945.

The goodbyes to Matthew and Francis were difficult, since they didn't know when or if they'd see each other again. Matthew was planning to stay in France with his lover, moving to Paris with him, but the rest of them were about to go their separate ways. Arthur hugged Matthew tightly, remembering everything they had been through together. "Be happy, you hear me?"

"Same to you, Artie. You take care of yourself, eh?"

"Of course. You too. And Matthew?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

Arthur patted him on the back, still holding on to him. "For helping me through everything."

"Hey, that's what friends are for. You helped me out too, you know."

"I suppose I did. Now," he stepped back, releasing Matthew and clapping him on the shoulder. "Keep in touch."

"You too, Artie."

Alfred, who had been saying goodbye to Francis, apparently saw his chance and hugged Matthew. Arthur turned to Francis, holding out his hand. "Well, I suppose this is goodbye."

"Indeed it is." Francis shook his hand and patted him on the back. "Take good care of Alfred, _oui?_ He's quite a handful."

"Oh, I know. And if I hear just a _rumour _that you've done something to hurt Matthew, there will be hell to pay."

"No worries, Arthur. I couldn't hurt him, even if my life depended on it."

Alfred let go of Matthew, still talking to him quietly, and Arthur decided not to eavesdrop. Soon enough, perhaps too soon, they were leaving. Alfred and Arthur waved, watching them walk away.

"So… we're heading out soon."

Arthur nodded. "I know. I'll be leaving as well."

"Yeah. I'll write to you, of course."

"Every week?"

"Every week. And as soon as I get us a place, I'll send over some money for your trip."

"You really don't have to do that."

"Yes, I do. How else are you gonna cover the cost of moving your stuff?"

Arthur laughed quietly. "I think you overestimate the quantity of personal belongings I really have. My flat is pre-furnished. But what kind of a goodbye is this, anyways?"

"The best kind."

"Do elaborate."

Alfred winked at him. "A temporary one."

They heard Arthur's commander yelling at them to move out, so they hugged briefly, whispering in each other's ears, "I love you."

"I love you too. I'll see you soon."

Then Arthur picked up his pack and waved goodbye to his lover. It didn't feel painful to leave Alfred, not this time. That was probably because the Arthur knew the soldier would be just fine, and that they'd see each other again soon. After all, who needed to worry after this kind of a war was over?

…

May 26th, 1945.

Arthur was _finally_ on a boat back to England, after quite a bit of delay and hullabaloo. The ride across the channel seemed very relaxing, especially when he compared it to the last time he had been on these waters, almost a year ago. He was gazing out over the water, happy to be going home to London, if only for a little while. He heard someone call his name, and looked up. "Hm?"

"Hey, Art! I've been looking all over for you!" It was Floyd. The man was running across the deck, waving happily. "I knew you made it, and someone told me you were on this boat, but you are one tricky man to find!" He embraced Arthur, and he had to hug back, not having seen his friend for months.

"Good to see you, Floyd. You look well. No missing appendages?"

"None whatsoever. I got lucky. Looks like you did too!"

"Yes, I did. So, is there anything new?"

"Ah, same old, same old. I'm just glad to be going home, you know? It's been a while. Oh, and…" he let go of Arthur, smiling and rocking back and forth on his heels. "MacPherson said she'll be waiting for us in the usual place tonight."

"The pub? Really?"

"Spot on. She's been home for a couple weeks now, lucky woman. Apparently, she and my mum have been setting up wedding plans. That's not quite so lucky, my mum's as stubborn as she is."

Arthur's eyebrows went up. "That's right, you're getting married! I'd forgotten completely!"

"Look at that, the best man forgot. Now _that's _a good omen for a happy marriage."

"Don't be so sarcastic, I've been rather preoccupied these past few months. Weddings were the absolute _last _things on my mind." He rolled his eyes, then smirked. "And shouldn't you start calling MacPherson by her first name? You _are_ getting married, after all."

Floyd sighed. "You know damn well she hates it."

"Then call her by her middle name."

"Fine. You know, _Phyllis _and I have been sending letters back and forth, and we've pretty much got a date picked out. You'd better be there."

"Don't you worry. Attending a wedding should be small potatoes compared to crawling around in the dirt and trying to just stay alive."

"True, true. Hey, look, we're almost there! England, your heroes are home!"

Arthur smiled, glancing over at the shore. _While it'll be nice to be back, I have a feeling it'll be missing something. Well, someone, to be exact. If home is where the heart is, then my home's currently on a boat back to America. _

End Ch. 10

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading! I've gotten a lot of wonderful feedback from everyone, and I want to let you know just how much I appreciate it. Really, it helps me keep writing. Anyways, look forward to chapter eleven fairly soon!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hello, readers! Just here to say hello, and that I hope you're having a good week. If not, well, I hope this makes it a little bit better. Enjoy.**

* * *

June 17th, 1945.

"Don't slouch like that, it makes you look lazy. And your tie is crooked, hold still. Goodness, who dressed you, your little cousin Joey?"

"Leave it, it's fine."

Arthur tsked. "No it's not. Now stop squirming at let me fix it!"

"Fine, _mum._ I swear, you're more nervous about this than I am."

Arthur shrugged, fixing Floyd's tie. "Can you blame me? I've never been anyone's best man before."

"And I've never been anyone's fiancé before. Relax, everything will go smoothly."

They were in the back room of the church, about to go stand at the altar. Arthur smoothed his hair down quickly, checked himself and Floyd over once more, and nodded. "All right, we're ready."

The church was small but charming, Arthur thought, as he stood by the altar and waited for MacPherson, the soon-to-be Mrs. Floyd. She looked incredibly ladylike in her delicate white dress, with a bouquet of lily-of-the-valley clasped in her hands. She also looked incredibly nervous, but happy. Her father, an aging, pleasant man, walked her up the aisle, and Arthur had to smile when he saw his friends' faces light up as soon as they caught sight of each other.

The ceremony was short, to the point, with only family members and close friends in the pews. The ending was what Arthur found the sweetest, and it made him feel oddly warm and fuzzy inside.

"Do you, Bessie Phyllis MacPherson, take David Charles Floyd to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do," she whispered, so shyly that Arthur knew he would have to make a blushing bride joke later.

"And do you, David Charles Floyd, take Bessie Phyllis MacPherson to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do." Did Floyd's voice just catch in his throat? Arthur could swear his friend was near tears.

"Then by the power vested in me by god, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your husband."

The bride laughed at that, the small nod to her rebellious spirit, and threw her arms around David's neck. Everyone clapped, and when the newlyweds walked down the aisle, hand-in-hand, the preacher leaned over to speak to Arthur. "Any plans of getting up on the altar soon yourself?"

"Not really, no." Arthur wasn't going to lie to the minister. "I'm moving to America soon."

"Oh? Now that's a shock."

"I know, but I made a promise to someone very dear to me, that once the war was over we could be together."

"Ah, I see. Well, good for you."

"Thank you."

After the reception – where Arthur gave a relatively decent speech, even after two glasses of champagne – was over, Arthur said a quick goodbye to his friends and went home. Once he was back in his flat, he got out some stationary and a pen. He had received a letter that bore excellent news earlier that day, and he wanted to share it with Alfred as quickly as he could.

He wrote to his lover, describing the whole ceremony. He asked about the American's family, his friends, and how everything was going. He then paused, putting the pen up to his lips for a moment before writing:

_By the way, I've taken care of all the formalities. It took long enough, but all the paperwork is finally finished. Of course, that means that whenever you want me, I can come home to you. Just say the word, and I'll be on the next available ship to America. As long as you'll be there to pick me up when I arrive, of course. Don't rush, though. The lease on my apartment isn't up for a couple months yet, so there's plenty of time. Anyways, I hope to hear from you soon, love. Take care of yourself._

_-Arthur._

He folded up the letter, packaged it all up, and walked down to the postbox. It was a pleasant summer evening, mellow with a soft breeze blowing through the London streets, and Arthur stayed outside for a moment after dropping the letter into the mailbox, just savouring the moment. He sighed happily and went back inside, sitting on his sofa with a book and falling asleep before he knew what had happened.

…

June 24th, 1945.

_Hey Artie! I meant to write back sooner, but there were a few complications. Nothing major, just some legal things I had to work out over here. Anyways, the real news is that I got us a place now. Get out your map now, okay? Do you even have a map of America? Well, whatever. So, there's a little town in Ohio , Dover (not the Dover in England, obviously), and that's where we'll be. Outside of it, actually, out in the country. Thankfully, it's nowhere near my family's place, so they won't be bugging us much. I'll send you the actual address later._

_I've been getting some friends to help me move stuff around and fix stuff up, which is another reason I couldn't really write. But yeah, everything over here is ready now! So, send me a letter telling my whenever you plan to leave, so I can know exactly when to come and get you, okay? And don't worry about transportation or anything, I'll get that all figured out._

_Man, when you get here, I'm gonna be so happy. Anyways, I can't wait! Get packing and start saying your goodbyes, okay? I've put money in here, and it should be enough to cover the cost of the actual boat ticket and all, but any extras are on you. Don't keep me waiting any longer than you have to, okay? Though I guess it'd give me more time to fix up the place… nah, you can help me with that. Forget what I just wrote!_

_I'll see you soon, Artie!_

_-Alfred._

…

_Well, that was fast. _Either Alfred had been really searching high and low for a place to live, or he had gotten extremely lucky. Either way, Arthur wasn't _quite _ready to hop on a boat across the Atlantic just yet. He needed to say his goodbyes, pack everything up, buy a ticket… there was still a lot left for him to do.

And he wanted to visit his hometown, maybe see some old childhood friends before he left for good. He walked down to the nearest train station, contemplating buying a ticket to Bristol. Then he shrugged and walked home.

_Maybe tomorrow I will_.

He wrote a reply to Alfred instead, informing him of his plans and congratulating him on finding a house so quickly. He updated him on any mildly interesting news—he was looking after his neighbour's cat for a few days, and it was quite a pleasant creature. Maybe he'd get one of his own someday, once he got to America. He dropped the letter in the letterbox in front of his townhouse complex, waving to a local shopkeeper who was cleaning windows.

_Yes, maybe tomorrow I'll buy myself a ticket._

…

June 26th, 1945.

He didn't until the day after, getting on the train before he could hesitate any more. The ride there, he read a book, reminding himself that it was highly improbable that he'd bump into his family. Arthur wasn't going to visit them anyways. Five years away from home had only made him happy, and he wasn't about to ruin that. Five years without a single letter, phone call, or visit… nothing. He didn't even know if his family still lived in Bristol.

He shrugged those thoughts out of his head once he arrived, exiting the train station and smiling as he looked around at his familiar surroundings. _Five years doesn't change a city like this one much, I suppose._

Arthur put his hands in his jacket pockets, planning on just roaming around a bit, not really paying attention to where he was going—until he ended up on the street he used to live on. He frowned, murmuring, "How the hell did I get here?"

Well, so much for wandering aimlessly through the city streets. He was obviously terrible at that. The townhouse he remembered was still there, although the garden was much better kept now, and he noticed that the red brick building was eerily similar to his place in London. Arthur heard laughter from inside the house, a small child's giggling, to be precise.

_Do I have a new baby sister, or maybe even a niece?_

Then an unfamiliar man chased a toddling, happily shrieking little girl and scooped her up, kissing her on both cheeks. "Ha! Caught you, Sophie! Daddy wins again!"

A woman joined a man in the yard, a baby on her hip. "Honestly George, you spoil our little girl." She shifted the baby to her other hip. "And have you done any of your chores?"

"No, love, I'm sorry. I got caught up in playing tag with Sophie."

The woman rolled her eyes and kissed him on the cheek. "Well, I can't really blame you for that. It's better than sitting around by the telly all day, in any case."

The man set the little girl down. "Run along, now." He looked up and caught sight of Arthur, who immediately felt like he had been intruding on the family's happy moment. The man tilted his head. "Hello there, are you lost?"

"No, no, not at all." Arthur shook his head. "It's just… do you know the Kirkland family?"

The man and woman looked at each other, and then the woman spoke. "No, I'm afraid not."

The little girl looked up at Arthur. "We're the Pierson family!"

She smiled at Arthur, and he smiled back. "Well then, it seems I have the wrong address. Do you know what happened to the family who used to live here?"

"No, I don't. Sorry."

"It's all right. Sorry to be a bother." Arthur walked on, now a bit curious, but still indignant. _It doesn't really matter where they are now. Not like they care about me or anything._

He walked through the streets, heading downtown, refusing to admit to himself that he actually did want to know where his family had gone, how they were. Arthur stopped to talk to an old lady, a flower vendor who had set up shop in the exact same spot for decades. She didn't know anything, though. It seemed almost as though his family had fallen off the face of the earth.

_I wonder if they're all right._

He bumped into someone, apologising immediately. "Oh, sorry."

"Pardon."

The voice sounded familiar, so Arthur looked up from his feet. His jaw dropped. "You-!"

"Art? That is you, isn't it? Fancy that, meeting you here." His brother – well, one of them – stood there, and blew a stream of cigarette smoke off to one side. "You've changed."

"So have you, Alastair."

There was a brief silence. After all, what do you say to the person who was responsible for two broken ribs, a chipped tooth, and countless nosebleeds, when you know you were just as responsible for plenty of bruises and scrapes? Then his brother shrugged. "Well, come on, I'll treat you to lunch."

They went to a small pub, sitting down across from each other and ordered tea. His brother sighed, pushing his hair out of his face. "So, I bet you're wondering how everyone is."

"More or less, yes."

"Well, let's see… Mum and Dad are the same as ever, Marie got married last summer-"

"Really? Though I suppose she is twenty now…"

"Yeah. Jon's still at home, but about ready to move out, and I'm sure you heard about Liam."

"No, what did he do?"

Alastair rose an eyebrow. "You didn't hear? He moved to Dublin." He blew smoke out his nose. "You pretty much started the migration of kids away from the Kirkland house. I moved to Scotland myself four years ago. Got a nice little place in Glasgow."

"So that's why you're talking like that." His brother seemed to have picked up a bit of a lilt in his accent.

"Well, you know, the locals rub off on you a lot. What have you been up to lately?"

Arthur shrugged. "I joined the Red Cross once I left home and I've been working as a medic since the war started. But now…" he spun his teacup around on the table. "I'm leaving the country. I'll get myself a job where I'm going."

"And where's that?"

"America." Maybe he had just a bit of pride in his voice right then, thinking of his amazing lover who waited for him across the ocean.

Alastair just raised his eyebrows. "London wasn't far enough away, eh? I don't blame you, though. I high-tailed it out of there as quickly as I could myself. I'm just back here to visit for a couple weeks. So, why are you here? Is it for Peter's birthday?"

"Peter? Who's that?"

"Our little brother… Mum was pregnant when you left home, remember? She had a boy. You really haven't been in touch at all, have you?"

Arthur shook his head. "No. I had no idea we had another brother."

"He's turning five tomorrow. Are you staying here until then?"

Arthur smiled. "No. I bought a one-day return ticket from London, and I'm leaving the country in a week. I just thought I'd see where we grew up one last time. Remember the old hill out back?"

"Yes, I've been there. It seems so small now, doesn't it?"

They talked for a while, and Arthur supposed that his brother hadn't turned out all _that_ badly. Really, you could hardly believe this was the brute who dangled Liam out the window when he was two. Growing up changed people, and Alastair was no exception to that.

After lunch, they stood up, both ready to go their separate ways. Arthur paused in the doorway to the pub. "So, where are you going?"

"To see the family. You coming?"

"No… no, I'm not. Give them my regards, will you?"

"Yeah, 'course I will. Take care, Art."

"You too." He headed back to the train station, making a couple detours to see old friends along the way.

And a few hours later, he was back on the train to London, dozing off as the train rattled along the tracks. He fed the cat when he got in the door, then went to his room and stared out at the city streets for a moment. He was glad to be back at his home, glad he hadn't gone to see his family after all. He had the future to think about, and there was no reason for him to bring up ghosts from the past, especially since no one in the family had cared enough to tell him he had a brother for five years. In the end, they probably didn't even care if he was alive or not.

Arthur sighed, pulling the bedsheets over himself and smiling when the cat hopped up on the bed next to him. _Well, at least someone's happy to be around me. And I have someone who really cares about me waiting across the Atlantic. Next week, I'll go. I've waited long enough._

No hesitation in his thoughts, in fact, he was a little bit impatient for the time to arrive already.

…

June 28th, 1945.

Arthur went to have lunch with the Floyds – now _that_ felt odd to say – where he planned to break the news that he was moving to them. Once they were all settled in and eating, Arthur cleared his throat. "I have an announcement to make. It might be a bit of a shock, but I figured you would want to know."

Phil raised an eyebrow, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Go on, we're listening."

David smirked. "You got someone pregnant, didn't you?"

"Of course not! Be serious for once."

"Sorry, sorry, just trying to lighten the mood."

Arthur rolled his eyes. He then continued, "I'm moving in less than a week."

"Moving houses? Your flat is pretty small, I'll give you that."

"No, a lot further than that. I'm going to America."

The couple looked at each other, then back at Arthur. "Really?"

"Now _that_ was unexpected."

"I know. I've been packing up, and I have a ticket for a boat to New York on the 2nd."

"Wow." Phil shook her head. "And you didn't say anything about this earlier because…?"

"You two have been honeymooning in Scotland for the past week."

"Oh." She sighed. "Well, I guess all we can say is good luck."

"Yeah. Do you want help moving your things?"

"No, I don't have all that much to bring."

"All right then." David shrugged. There was a bit of an awkward silence, which David finally broke with a quiet sigh. "We're all starting new lives now that the war's over, aren't we?"

"I suppose we are."

"We're going to miss you, Art." David nudged him. "Who else will I have to bother during work?"

"I'm sure you'll find someone, David. I'll miss you both as well."

The goodbye was quite bittersweet, and Arthur felt tears come to his eyes more than once when he hugged his friends. "I'll write letters to you two as often as I can."

"You'd better. And send pictures, if you can!"

"Of course. You too, by the way. If you have kids, I want to hear all about it." When David raised an eyebrow, Arthur rolled his eyes. "Not _all_ about it, you idiot. You get my point."

Phil laughed and hugged him again. "Don't worry, you'll get lots of letters from fat, hormonal, pregnant me, that's for sure! Take care of yourself over there, you hear me?"

"I hear you. I'll write you when I get there."

They bid goodbye, Arthur waving over his shoulder as he walked down the street. _They'll be just fine together. Yes, they certainly will._

…

July 2nd, 1945.

Arthur was down at the harbour with his bags, waiting to board the ship, when he heard someone call his name. He looked around, but didn't see anyone familiar, so he shrugged and picked up his bags. Whoever it was must've been talking to a different Arthur.

Then someone ran up and grabbed his arm. A young woman, who said his name again. "Arthur, it _is _you, isn't it?"

He looked at her, not recognizing her at all. "Yes, my name is Arthur, but I think you've got the wrong person. Can I help you?"

"Arthur, it's me, Marie!"

He blinked. His _sister?_ What was she doing here?" "Marie? But Alastair said you-"

"Got married, yes, and it's true. My husband's over there, but that's beside the point. Alastair told me you were leaving, and I've been trying to find you since then! You're tricky to track down, you know that?"

Arthur shook his head. "No, I wasn't aware of that." He looked his little sister up and down. "Look at you, so grown up! You changed your hair, didn't you?"

"Of course I did, it's been five years. I'm not a little girl anymore."

"No, you definitely aren't."

She took his hands. "Where are you going to, anyways, with all those bags?"

"Well… I'm moving to America, truth be told."

She looked surprised. "Really? So, you're really leaving for good?"

"Yes, I am."

"Then I'm glad I caught you when I did. Here, let me introduce Christopher." She called over her shoulder, "Sweetheart, come here! It's Arthur after all!"

A man stepped forward and Arthur shook his hand, quickly giving him a once-over. _Lucky girl, he looks like quite the catch._

He seemed pleasant enough, smiling readily at Arthur and then at his wife. "Well dearest, I'm happy we managed to find him. Pleasure to meet you, Arthur."

"Same to you, Christopher."

Marie clapped her hands once. "Oh, but you probably need to get going! Here, let me say goodbye like all those girls do in the movies. She stood on her tiptoes, taking Arthur's face in her hands and planting a big kiss on his forehead with an exaggerated 'mwah!' sound. She giggled and hugged him. "I'll miss you, brother! But at least you're happy."

He rolled his eyes and hugged her back, kissing her on the cheek. "Same to you, sweetie. Don't let your husband get away now, you hear me? And have enough children to put Mum to shame!"

She laughed and stepped back, taking her husband by the hand. "Two will be quite enough, I believe, let alone six. Love you, Art!"

"Love you too, Marie."

Arthur boarded the ship, waving goodbye to his sister, pleasantly surprised by how happy she seemed. The way Alastair had put it, it sounded like she had married just to get out of the house, but she actually seemed quite in love with her husband. And if one Kirkland sibling could find real happiness, then why couldn't two? Maybe Arthur could have a happily ever after, after all.

…

July 6th, 1945.

When the boat arrived early that morning, Arthur was rather nervous. Yes, he had all the proper paperwork and proof of where he'd be living in the U.S., and yes, he had told Alfred when he would be arriving via letter, but he was still just hoping they'd actually let him into the country. The Russian family behind him in line seemed to be hoping for the same thing, and Arthur knew he at least had a better chance than they did of being allowed entry.

Still, when he was being inspected, he felt he had a right to be anxious. The agent behind the desk seemed to be taking forever, flipping through all his documents, stamping this and scribbling on that, occasionally making odd facial expressions that did nothing to make Arthur feel any better. It wasn't until he was passed back his papers and told with a bright smile, "All clear!" that he felt better.

Even then, he felt a bit uneasy. Mostly because he really needed to use the toilet. Two hours of waiting in line was not good for his bladder. He found the nearest bathroom, and after a quick break, he felt much relieved. He gathered up his bags and headed towards the exit. But still, what if Alfred wasn't there to pick him up? What if the other man had gotten the date mixed up, or even forgotten about him? Arthur had money, yes, so he could at least stay in a hotel or something, but he didn't know how he'd get ahold of Alfred.

He could feel his heart pounding nervously in his chest when he exited the immigration building and went out into the hot summer air. Arthur squinted, blocking out the sun as best as he could, blinking his eyes and looking around for Alfred. He didn't see him right away, so moved down the walkway, looking left and right, trying to ignore how heavy his bags were. There were plenty of people waiting for friends, family, and lovers, but Arthur didn't spot his own lover amongst them.

Then he heard a loud voice nearby. "Excuse me, coming through! Sorry ma'am. Pardon me, sorry, sorry, excuse me!"

No, was it really him…?

Alfred suddenly appeared at the front of the crowd, squeezing in between a couple people. Arthur saw him look around for a couple seconds, realised it really _was _him, and he froze. His legs refused to move any further and his breath caught in his throat. He didn't think he'd be able to move even if he tried.

Then Alfred's eyes landed on him. Arthur saw the sheer happiness that lit up his face, and he felt that he probably wouldn't need to move anyways, that Alfred would carry him if he had to. The soldier ran forward, only stopping once he was right in front of Arthur and had pulled the Brit firmly against his chest. "Arthur! You're here, finally here!"

Arthur dropped his bags and hugged Alfred back, trying not to just kiss his lover in front of all these people. Alfred rocked back and forth a bit, holding onto Arthur, who sighed happily. "Hello, Al. It's wonderful to see you again."

The American pulled back and picked up one of Arthur's bags, smiling. "Yeah. Man, I can't believe it, you're actually here! But we better get going. We've got a long train ride and then a drive home, so let's not dawdle. We oughta get you something to eat, too. You're probably starved!"

He smiled at Arthur, and the Brit realized that this was the first time they had seen each other in regular clothes, not in fatigues or hospital attire. Alfred was dressed simply, just wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and Arthur had already shed his tweed coat, leaving him in a plain button-down shirt and slacks.

"Indeed, I'm a bit peckish. And you said a train ride?"

_My, he's even more handsome than before, I swear. _

"Yeah." Alfred nodded. "It's cheaper and faster than driving the whole way. It'll still take all day, but we'll be home in time for supper."

Home. Here, of all places. What a strange concept. Arthur decided he liked it. He looked his lover up and down, trying to admire him as subtly as possible. Alfred had gained quite the tan over the past few months, as well as a bit of muscle, probably from doing farm work. His hair was a shade lighter than usual, sun-bleached, and only brought out his bright eyes even more.

_Bloody gorgeous, isn't he? Just what did I do to deserve him?_

Arthur felt a little pale and skinny in comparison, but when they got on the train and loaded their bags into the overhead compartments, Alfred's hand lingered on his and Arthur had to shoot him a glance. Alfred was smiling gently, looking at him like he was some kind of gem or precious, priceless object. That made Arthur's heart lift a little, and he stroked Alfred's hand with his thumb briefly before sitting down.

Alfred sat next to him, close enough for their legs to brush, and Arthur smiled to himself. Alfred seemed just as desperate for physical contact as he was, and it made him feel a bit less like he was going insane. Only a few hours until he could have this glorious, amazing, perfect man all to himself. And after that, he'd have the rest of his life with him.

Alfred nudged him lightly. "You don't burn too easily out in the sun, do you?"

"Not really, no. Why?"

"Just checkin'. I don't want you getting all sunburnt on me once we actually get outside and work a bit. I can't wait to show you the place, Artie. It's something else, let me tell you! You're gonna love it."

"I'm sure I will." Arthur put a hand on Alfred's knee, and they smiled at each other.

He was happy. Not a false, temporary sort of happy, either. No, Arthur had a feeling that this wouldn't leave, unlike most of the happiness he had felt before. He was full of a true, deep, simply wonderful contentment. This was forever. This was real. That made him smile the entire train ride, even though he knew he probably looked like a fool. Of course, that didn't stop him. He was just too happy to keep it all hidden away.

_End Ch. 11_

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**Thank you for reading! We're almost at the end now. Just another chapter, maybe an epilogue, and this story will be over. I really love all the feedback I've gotten from you, and every time I get a new follower, favorite, or review, I feel so warm and fuzzy inside.**

**Again, thanks for reading!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Well everyone, this is the last official chapter. There will be an epilogue, of course, but the story's coming to an end! I'll save the goodbyes for later, but I want to thank everyone for reading and for all the amazing feedback I've gotten from you. It really warms my heart to read all the reviews you've written. Thank you so much! Consider this chapter a dedication to you, my friends.**

* * *

July 6th, 1945.

They were almost at the house, apparently, at least Alfred kept saying so. He was driving the truck, occasionally chatting with Arthur, but mostly just focusing on the road. Arthur was trying not to nod off, since the engine's quiet hum, the warm sunlight coming through the windows, and the gently rolling hills of the countryside were really quite soothing.

He noticed when the engine stopped and lifted his head up, looking around. They were in front of a small house, way out in what seemed like the middle of nowhere. Arthur got out of the car and stretched his arms over his head. He looked around. "This is home?"

"This is home." Alfred took Arthur's bags out of the bed of the truck and put them down. "What do you think?"

"It's… big. How did you ever manage to afford this?"

"It was my granddad's. I used to come here every summer, so I remembered the place really well. He died last year and left it to me in his will, so I just had to claim it and fix the place up."

"So it's ours now?"

"Yep."

"Wow. It's lovely." Arthur wasn't lying. The farmhouse he was standing in front of was painted blue and white, two stories tall, with a front deck and flowerbeds around it. He could see a large vegetable garden around back, and knew that more than enough produce for two people could grow there. In the mellow light of the late afternoon, the windows gleamed yellow and the surrounding fields rippled with gentle gusts of wind. Arthur turned to Alfred, taking his hand. "Thank you."

"Anything for you, Artie. Want me to show you around?"

"Not just yet."

"Oh?" Alfred raised his eyebrows.

Arthur smiled secretively. "Yes, there's something I'd quite like to do first."

He put his arms around Alfred's neck and leaned in, gently pressing his lips against Alfred's, kissing him for the first time in months. Alfred's hands settled on Arthur's waist and he kissed back gently, just sweetly and slowly stroking Arthur's sides. Arthur relaxed into his touch and slid his hands into Alfred's hair, but didn't deepen the kiss. _That_ could wait. Right then, all he wanted was to hold Alfred close, and this was absolutely perfect.

They had to breathe eventually, breaking apart and smiling at each other. Alfred kissed Arthur on the nose. "I love you."

"I love you too. Now, weren't you going to show me around?"

"Oh yeah!" Alfred spun on his heel, pointing in different directions. "That's the orchard. That field over there is wheat, that one's corn, that one's sugar beets. There are a couple more, but right now I'm just letting them go to seed, since it's too late in the season to plant much. I'll plant something once we harvest the wheat. That over there is the storage shed—well, one of them, anyways. That's the garage, that's the henhouse-"

"Wait, we have _chickens?_"

"You betcha. No cows yet, but there's a pasture if we ever do get any. Then there's the veggie garden, the compost heap behind the garage, the hay barn, and… that's it, I think. Apart from the house, duh."

"Wonderful." Arthur wrapped a hand around Alfred's waist. "And you get to teach me how to do everything except for gardening and picking fruit."

"Hey, we've got the rest of our lives for that." Alfred smiled at Arthur.

Arthur's breath caught in his throat for a moment as it really hit him. This was home now. This really was forever. He liked that. No, he loved it. "Yes, I suppose we do. Now, do I get a tour of the inside as well?"

"Yeah, in a minute. Let me check on the cats."

"Cats?"

"There are a few in the hay barn. They catch mice in there. One of them had kittens a couple months ago, and I've been kinda taming them."

Arthur smiled. "I'll come with you." Maybe he'd find one to be a nice indoor cat. They'd need one to catch mice indoors, after all. He decided on a cute, floppy-eared, orange and white kitten with a calmer temperament than its littermates, scooping it up after a couple minutes of playing with it. "Alfred, we're keeping this one."

"Whatever you want, darlin'."

"Darling?"

"You don't mind, do ya?" Alfred, who had been lying on his stomach, letting a kitten bat at his hair, pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, looking Arthur in the eyes.

Arthur shook his head, still cradling the kitten. "Not at all. I like it, actually."

"Good, cuz so do I."

They went into the house, where Alfred put his bags by the front door and gave him a quick tour. "So, there are three bedrooms, and they're all upstairs. The bathroom's up there too. Down here, there's a kitchen, dining room, and living room. We'll stay in whichever room you want, okay?"

"Sounds good to me." Arthur looked around. "This is nice."

"It's kinda plain, I know, but I was sorta hoping you and I could do the decorating stuff together."

"Certainly. We can fix it right up." Yes, maybe a couple plants here and there, an embroidered tablecloth, a couple paintings on the walls… it'd be lovely.

Alfred let him look around, heading into the kitchen. "I'll heat up dinner. Go put your stuff wherever you want."

Arthur nodded, picking up his bags. "I'll carry these upstairs." He peeked into all the rooms up there, choosing the one with the largest windows and bed.

When he came back downstairs, Alfred was opening windows to let in the breeze. "It's cooling down out there, so I figured we should air out the house a bit."

Arthur nodded and opened a window himself, smiling when Alfred kissed his shoulder. He caught his lover's hand as he walked past, squeezing it lightly. "It still seems a bit unreal, that I'm really here with you."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. And it's about to get even worse."

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "I don't quite follow."

"Well…" Alfred reached into his pocket and pulled out a box. "I know it's really stupid and all, but… I got something for each of us." He opened the box and passed Arthur a plain gold ring. "So people know we're both taken."

Arthur held it in his hand for a moment, then it clicked. "Oh! I understand." Or at least he _thought_ he did. Then it _really_ clicked, and he gasped. "You mean…"

"Yeah." Alfred smiled sheepishly. "I dunno about you, but this… you know, _us_, for me, it's permanent. I mean, i-it's okay if you don't want to, I just…" Arthur shook his head, putting the ring on and trying to show Alfred without words that yes, he really wanted this, he was just too damn choked up to say anything. Alfred seemed to understand, smiling and putting his own ring on. "Thanks. It means a lot."

"No, thank _you._"

"For what?"

"The ring, the house, bringing me over here, choosing _me_ of all people, loving me… everything." Alfred blushed and looked down at his feet. Arthur took his hand and kissed him on the cheek. "I love you. So very much."

"I love you too. Man, you have no idea how happy I am right now!"

"I think I do, actually. Come along love, we ought to eat dinner."

"Right!"

After dinner, Alfred did the dishes while Arthur went and had a bath. When Arthur was done, Alfred took a bath himself, saying something about working in the fields yesterday and feeling sweaty, and Arthur didn't question him. He sat in the sitting room, on the sofa, just looking around him with a sense of awe.

_I get to share this place with Alfred for as long as I want. Until the end of my life, if I want to. Hell, it's not because I want to, I'm staying here with him because I __need__ to. We finally get to be together._

It made his heart beat a little faster, made his face feel a little warmer whenever he thought about those things.

Alfred came back downstairs in his pajamas, stopping and fiddling with a clock on the wall for a second. He nodded, then flopped on the couch next to Arthur, lazily putting an arm around his shoulders. Arthur leaned into his touch with a happy sigh, kissing Alfred's neck. When he felt Alfred shift a little bit, Arthur pulled back. "Is something wrong?"

"No, why?"

"You were wiggling."

"Well… it kinda tickles, to be honest." Alfred shrugged.

"Oh, does it?" Arthur straddled Alfred on the couch, attacking his neck with kisses. "Does it tickle now?"

"Ah! Stop it!" Alfred squirmed around, half-heartedly pushing Arthur off. "It feels good, but it tickles, you know?"

"No, I don't." But Arthur did know that the tent forming in Alfred's pants wasn't innocent. He moved his head up, capturing Alfred's lips and gently stroking his cheek as they kissed. The kiss started out slow and sweet, but then Alfred sucked Arthur's tongue into his mouth. Arthur tangled his hands in Alfred's hair, happily exploring his lover's mouth and feeling a familiar aching need forming in his stomach.

When he pulled back, Alfred was flushed and breathing heavily. Arthur's face felt hot, and he desperately wanted to just tear off their clothes, but he restrained himself, instead standing up. "Should we take this upstairs?" he asked.

"Definitely," Alfred replied, so they took each other's hands and made their way up the stairs and into the bedroom.

Alfred unbuttoned Arthur's shirt and pulled his undershirt over his head while Arthur worked on his pajama shirt. They stripped off their pants as well, and when they stood there, both naked, aroused, and barely resisting lunging at each other desperately, Alfred took a step forward, placing his lips next to Arthur's ear and whispering, "Arthur, can we try something new tonight?"

"Certainly. What do you want to do?" Arthur ran his hands up and down Alfred's sides. God, he was beautiful when he was naked. If Arthur could have him naked every day for the rest of his life, he would be a happy man.

"I want you inside me this time."

Arthur inhaled sharply, erotic images flitting through his head. "That sounds… lovely." He put his hands on Alfred's hips and kissed him, guiding him towards the bed. When they lay down, Arthur hovering over Alfred, and touched each other in all the places they hadn't been able to for so long, Arthur had to ask, "Why do you want to do it like this, just out of curiosity?"

Alfred grinned up at him, running a finger over Arthur's nipples. "Well, I just figured I've been doing a lot of giving lately, and it's your turn now." He winked and spread his legs a bit.

Arthur sighed. "Pervert."

"You know you love it."

"I do indeed. Do you have anything to make it smoother?"

"Yeah, hang on a sec." Alfred reached into the bedside table, pulling out a jar of cold cream.

Arthur took it from him, and when he removed the lid and saw that some was already used up a bit, he raised an eyebrow. "Been practicing?"

Alfred blushed. "Yeah. So what?"

"Nothing at all. I'm not complaining." Arthur slathered some on his fingers before gently pressing one into Alfred, carefully listening to every hitch in his breathing, every little sound he made. His other hand stroked along Alfred's shoulders, chest, hips, anywhere he could easily reach.

Alfred's hands squeezed his shoulders, tensing and relaxing while Arthur carefully worked him open. The Brit found his good spot as quickly as he could, loving the way Alfred cried out without having to muffle it, the way he looked at Arthur with unmasked hunger in his eyes. He put in another finger, then another, until Alfred was practically begging him to just hurry up already.

He coated himself with more of the cream, spreading Alfred's legs further and leaning forward until the head of his erection brushed against Alfred's entrance. He paused there, waiting for the go-ahead. Alfred moaned out loud, bucking his hips down and trying to get Arthur to slip inside.

Arthur bit his lip and pushed forward slowly, so slowly. It felt amazing, Alfred felt amazing, so soft, warm and snug around him. Alfred's arms wrapped around his neck and he gasped for breath as he looked up into Arthur's face. "Artie… it's so good…"

"And I haven't even moved yet, love. You're in for a treat."

"Then just give it to me already! Move!"

Arthur nodded, pulling his hips back and snapping them forward, relishing in the way Alfred threw his head back and groaned, "Ngh… oh yeah, just like that! Right there!"

His eyes almost rolled back in his head, sliding in and out of that hot, tight, slick cavern. "Al! Oh, you feel so good like this…"

"Mm, you too. God, it feels like… nothing I've ever felt before. More, please! Harder!"

Arthur gripped Alfred's hip with one hand and took his cock in the other, pumping Alfred in time with his thrusts, moving faster, deeper, moaning readily as he drove himself into his lover repeatedly. "Gnh… Al, I love you!"

"I love you too. Ah! I c-can't last much longer… it's too good."

"Me either. Hah… I wish I could do this forever." Arthur gave a series of fast, harsh thrusts.

"Y-yeah, me too." Alfred arched his back, nails digging into Arthur's shoulders. "Oh god, Art—ah! I'm coming!" He pulled Arthur down on top of him, moaning his name as he shivered, spilling himself all over them both.

Arthur felt Alfred's muscles squeezing him, the tight heat vice-like around his cock. He couldn't hold on any longer, feeling himself let go, feeling everything flowing into Alfred. The bliss that overcame him nearly made him unaware that he was practically shouting Alfred's name as he shook with pleasure.

When they had recovered a bit, actually able to move around again, they kissed, wrapping their arms around each other. Arthur felt himself slip out of Alfred, and they both sighed. "That was…"

"Yeah." Alfred kissed his forehead. "We're _definitely_ doing that again."

Arthur's arms tightened around his lover and he whispered, "I love you."

"I love you too, darlin'. Man, if I can walk tomorrow, it's gonna be a miracle, lemme tell you that. That was amazing."

"Mm. It certainly was." Arthur kissed Alfred chastely, happy to be able to show his affection whenever he wanted, happy to be cuddling up to the man he loved, happy to be able to do so for the rest of his life. "Wake me up when you get up, love."

"Of course I will. Can't have you missing out on any chores, right?" Alfred laughed softly and squeezed Arthur gently. "Stay with me."

"Forever."

"You promise?"

"I promise." Arthur snuggled up to Alfred and quickly fell asleep, happily wrapped in his arms.

…

July 15th, 1945.

Arthur was outside feeding the chickens after breakfast, shirtsleeves rolled up past his elbows, planning on tending the vegetable garden next. A man showed up on their property and waved to him. "Hey there, have you seen Alfred?"

"I'm afraid he's out in the cornfield. Can I help you?"

"Yeah, he's been working on fixing my tractor, and he called me last night. Told me to come pick it up today."

Arthur nodded. "Let me go get him." He walked out to the cornfield and yelled, "Al! Get your arse over here!" Hopefully he wasn't too far away.

"What is it?" Alfred was fairly close after all.

"There's a man here for his tractor."

He heard Alfred sigh, and moments later the American appeared out of the tall, green corn. "Right, I've got this." He waved to the man. "Hey Jim, I got 'er all fixed up. Right this way." He beckoned the man, opening the garage door, and a couple minutes later the other farmer rode away in his tractor with a cheery wave.

Arthur was digging weeds out of the vegetable garden by then, and tossed one over his shoulder, purposely aiming at Alfred's boots. "Now what was all that about?"

"I didn't tell you? I'm the town's new mechanic. I used to help out the old mechanic whenever I came here as a teenager, and I built up a good reputation. He kicked the bucket two years ago, and apparently everyone still remembers me."

"So you've got a bit of a side job?"

Alfred nodded. "Yeah. It's a fun way to make a little extra money, you know, by fixing up all sorts of stuff."

Arthur tilted his head. "Speaking of which, I'm wondering if there's anything I could do around here to do a little more work."

"True, there's not a whole lot to do right now. Wait until harvest time, we'll be plenty busy then!" He yawned, stretching his arms over his head. "Well, back to work. Check on the orchard, will ya? Make sure the fruit isn't all bug-bitten or anything."

"Sure thing, love."

Everything they did felt so relaxed, so calm… it was wonderful. Just spending time together, being able to snuggle on the couch or hold each other in bed and catch their breath after a marvelous lovemaking… but Arthur really shouldn't have been thinking about that, he was supposed to be inspecting the fruit. It looked fine, so he went back to the house to tend the flowerbeds.

He only noticed that Alfred had joined him when their shoulders bumped together, and he smiled. "Hello there."

"Hi."

To anyone watching, _if_ anyone had been watching, they would just have seemed like a couple of friends working together. But to them, the small glances exchanged, the effortless conversations, all of it hid much more than anyone would expect.

And when they went inside for lunch, Arthur didn't have a care in the world. Until he saw Alfred frown as he went through the mail. "Crap."

"What is it?"

"Nothing _too_ bad… I hope. My family wants to come visit us soon. Ugh." He sighed and passed the letter to Arthur. "And they're super nosy, just a heads-up. That's gonna be a week for separate bedrooms."

"A week?"

"Yep. Mom likes inviting herself to peoples' houses for long periods of time. It sucks. But I love her anyways." He rolled his eyes. "Hopefully they won't freak you out too much with their weirdness."

"I'm sure your family is quite tame compared to mine." Arthur had told Alfred much of his family history since arriving, and the American had professed – very eloquently, of course – 'Man! That sucks.'

But now he just raised an eyebrow. "Wanna bet?"

Arthur smirked. "Why not?"

"All right then, but if my family's weirder, you have to do all the cooking for a week. And if they don't scare you, then I'll do all the cooking."

"It's a deal. But are you sure you really want me doing all the cooking?"

"Hey, as long as you don't try to bake anything, I think I'll survive."

…

August 8th, 1945.

They stood on the front porch, waving goodbye to Alfred's family as they drove away in their car. "Thank god that's over," Arthur murmured, and Alfred laughed.

"Hell yeah. You see what I meant, right?"

"They're… charmingly eccentric. But they brought us a porch swing, so I can't really complain."

"_That's_ your criteria for not being annoying? Nice presents?"

Arthur shrugged. "I suppose. That and your mother can actually cook. Speaking of which, someone gets to spend plenty of time in the kitchen this week, and it definitely isn't me."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'll do it. But only main meals! If you want any snacks or whatever, that's your problem."

"Fine with me. On that subject, how about a nice afternoon tea on our new porch swing?"

"Sure thing." Alfred smiled and took Arthur's hand.

When they went inside, they almost tripped over the cat, who had been progressively spending more and more time inside with them and was quite affectionate. They managed to do an awkward sort of hopping-dance over the cat, still holding hands and giggling a bit. They did another little hop-step over him on the way out, carrying teacups, a teapot, and a plate of snacks.

Once they were settled outside, Alfred leaned his head on Arthur's shoulder with a happy sigh. "You know, I could really get used to this."

"You'll have plenty of time to do so, love."

…

October 21st, 1945.

The neighbours who lived about a mile down the road had two little boys who often came around to play on the Jones-Kirkland property. They climbed around in the hay barn, terrorized the cats, ran around in the pasture… just generally behaved like boys,

Arthur was starting to get tired of yelling at them to stay away from the vegetable garden. "Oy, you there! Don't you go near those lettuces! I swear, you two are worse than all the rabbits in Ohio. Shoo now, run along. Go home to mummy!"

One of the boys stuck his tongue out at Arthur, and Alfred, who was working in the garage, snickered loud enough for Arthur to hear it. The Brit huffed at that, mostly at his lover for encouraging the little brats' behaviour. He shooed them away, smiling to himself when they ran away.

Then one tripped over a rock and fell face-first into the dirt. He sat up, seemingly all right, then Arthur saw a large gash on his forehead. "Oh bugger, don't move."

The boy touched his head, saw the blood, and promptly starting howling. Arthur rolled his eyes and went to get a first aid kit from the house. He returned quickly and knelt next to the boy. "It's all right, I can fix this up easily. This might sting a bit, but it'll make it better." He disinfected the cut, wiping out dirt and any other debris while he was at it.

The other boy ran home to get his mother, and Arthur deliberated whether not it would need stitches. "Well, this is a pretty large gash, and it will take a long time to heal otherwise… would you mind having a scar right here?"

The boy shook his head. "Uh-uh. Scars are cool! My daddy has a bunch on his leg from where it got caught in a grain harvester."

"All right then, stitches it is. Now, this will probably hurt, just to let you know, but it'll fix you right up."

He was finishing stitching up when the boy's mother arrived. "Oh, my poor baby! We'd better go see the doctor…?" She trailed off, noticing that Arthur was clipping the thread on the stitches.

"And… all done! There you go, lad."

The boy hopped up, pointing to his forehead. "The mister fixed my head! We don't need the doctor!"

The woman sighed in relief. "No, we don't. Thank you, Mr. Jones."

Arthur shook his head. "It was nothing, really. And I'm Kirkland, by the way, not Jones. Arthur Kirkland." He held out his hand.

The boy's mother shook his hand. "Sorry, my mistake. So, if you're Kirkland, then where's-"

"Over here!" Alfred waved from the garage. "Alfred F. Jones, at your service."

She waved politely. "Sarah Richardson. My boys are Sam and Bill." She patted them both on the head.

Arthur nodded. "Now I'll be able to figure out which one has been attacking my lettuce."

She grimaced. "Sorry about that."

"Ah, boys will be boys. I was probably worse than them at that age." He waved his hand dismissively, and Sarah's eyes landed on his ring.

"Oh, are you married?"

Arthur looked at his ring as well. "No, I'm afraid not. This is… well, it's a symbol. A symbol of a promise I made to someone very dear to me, to be faithful to them forever."

She nodded. "So you're a widower then, I understand. Is your friend over there in the same boat?"

Arthur glanced over at Alfred, smiling a bit. "Yes, he is."

"But you're both so young!"

He shrugged. "It happened during the war."

"Oh… that makes sense." She took both of her sons by the hand. "Well, I'd better get home. I've got jam on the stove and I can only trust James to watch it for so long. I'll bring you a couple jars when it's finished, as a thank-you for fixing up Sam's head." She winked. "Lord only knows, he needed it fixed anyways."

Arthur chuckled. "Thank you, and really, it was no trouble. I'm a trained medic, after all."

"Keeping your skills in practice, huh? I'll let the others around town know. Our old doctor can't keep up with all the accidents around here. I'll see you around!"

"See you." Arthur waved as she left, then packed up the first aid kit.

He was putting it away in its spot under the kitchen sink when Alfred came inside and hugged him from behind. "Hiya, darlin'. What'd you and that lady talk about?"

"Oh, the usual. Children, marriage, jam…"

"Marriage?"

"Apparently people are going to think you and I are widowers from now on."

Alfred shrugged. "Huh. Did she come up with that on her own?"

"Yes, she saw my ring and assumed."

"Works for me. If it keeps people from being super nosy, right?"

"True." Arthur didn't like lying about their relationship, but who knows how accepting the townspeople would be? It may have been the twentieth century, but some people were stuck in a seventeenth-century mindset.

Alfred went to the hall closet to fetch a jacket. "Well, I've got a shift at the fire station tonight. You don't need the truck for anything, right?"

"I don't think so. We work at the same time next week, by the way."

"Really? Awesome, that makes life easier."

They had been volunteering at the local fire station for the past couple months, and had just been put on the payroll. There weren't all that many big fires, but when there were, it almost felt like the battlefield again to Arthur. Except this time, no one had to feel guilty about defeating the enemy. He usually ended up treating injured people and burn victims once the fires were put out until the ambulances arrived, and it helped him keep his medical skills in practice. He enjoyed the work as well, and the other men in the fire station were pleasant enough to be around and to talk to.

When he and Alfred had the same shift, they had to remember that public displays of affection were _not _allowed. They made up for that tenfold the rest of the time, exchanging kisses, hugs, cuddling on the couch and in bed, and holding hands whenever possible. Sure, it was sappy enough that even Arthur felt a little embarrassed by it sometimes, but it still left him feeling warm and fuzzy inside. He didn't think he'd ever grow tired of showing Alfred how much he loved him, and he was sure that Alfred felt the same.

…

January 3rd, 1946.

Winter was cold in the house despite the radiators; the wind and chill got in through any possible cracks anywhere in the old farmhouse. So Arthur began making curtains to block the drafts a bit. They installed shutters on the windows as well, mostly to block out the way the wind whistled past the house. Alfred started drinking more tea (Arthur's tea consumption habits didn't really change much), and they both spent most of the time they sat down wrapped in blankets.

They had gone to visit Alfred's family for the holidays, which really wasn't too bad. It was only five of them in the house, after all, and they were all easy to get along with. For Christmas, they had written a long letter to Matthew and Francis, and found a letter from them in their mailbox when they got back home, full of news from their side of the Atlantic.

Arthur wrote to the Floyds as well, and upon receiving a reply, learned that Phil was pregnant. Only a couple months along, but definitely pregnant. She was very happy about it, she and David both were, and it made Arthur a little bit jealous. He was perfectly happy, of course, but sometimes he wondered what fatherhood would be like. Fun, or more work than it'd be worth?

Either way, he wasn't ever going to find out, and that was fine with him. Arthur was happy to share the rest of his life with just one person, especially since that person was as marvelous as Alfred was.

That night, in bed, Arthur lay awake with Alfred's head on his chest. He wasn't quite drifting off to sleep yet, just stroking his lover's hair softly. Alfred woke up for a moment and leaned his head up to kiss him. Arthur accepted the kiss happily, smiling when Alfred burrowed his face into his neck and sighed, falling back asleep. He closed his eyes and dozed off at last, warm and comfortable and very, very happy.

He was still full of that same joy that had appeared the moment he saw Alfred waiting for him in New York.

…

September 25th, 1946.

Harvest season was upon them again, and Arthur was out picking tomatoes when a girl from town approached him. "Excuse me, Mr. Kirkland?"

He stood up, shaking his hair out of his face. "Speaking. Can I help you?"

"Well, the other day my dad bought some tomatoes from you at the market, since ours didn't do so well this year. I mean, we've got a city lot, so it's a pretty small garden, but…"

Arthur nodded. "I understand. You're saying you'd like a couple tips?"

The young woman blushed and nodded vigourously. "Yes please!" Arthur gave her a few pointers, and she wrote them down before folding up the piece of paper and shoving it into her handbag. "Thank you so much!"

"Oh, it's no trouble. I hope you'll have better luck next year."

"Me too. I'll see you in town, Mr. Kirkland!"

"Indeed, Miss."

"Call me Jane. Jane Smith."

"Very well, Jane."

She left, and Arthur went back to his tomatoes, calling over to Alfred who was kneeling and picking squash on the other side of the garden, "Odd girl. Coming all the way out here when she could've just come up to the market stall on Saturday. She kept playing with her hair, did you notice?"

"That's 'cuz she was flirting with you, Artie."

"What?! No, you're joking!"

"Nope." Alfred stood up, brushing off his hands. "We're the new cuties in town, apparently. And you know how Sarah spread the word that we're widowers? Well, now that we've had time to 'grieve the losses of our wives' or something like that, we're now eligible bachelors."

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

"The guys down at the fire station. One guy's sister has a major crush on you, by the way. Says you're so 'charmingly British' or something like that."

Arthur scoffed. "How ridiculous. Ugh, what a pain. How long do you figure we'll be fending off women?"

"Give it about a year, Artie. It's gonna get super annoying."

They both sighed, and Arthur rolled his eyes. "Well, no matter how annoying it gets, there's no way I'm giving in."

"Me either. I just kinda wish… you know…"

"That we didn't have to keep this a secret."

"Yeah."

Arthur took Alfred's hand. "Maybe someday we won't have to. Things are bound to change."

"I hope you're right."

"So do I."

…

April 12th, 1947.

Arthur was in the kitchen one night after dinner, working on filing taxes. It was maddeningly tedious, and he was starting to consider just flushing everything down the toilet and laughing maniacally. But no, he had to get this done. Tax evasion was a criminal charge he would rather avoid.

So he sighed heavily, bonking his head against the table, punctuating each word with a smack of his head against the wood. "Why… must… this… be… so… boring?!"

"That's 'cuz it's taxes, Artie. It's supposed to suck." Alfred stood in the doorway to the kitchen, wrapped in a bathrobe, hair still slightly damp from his earlier bath.

"How long have you been standing there? Ugh, never mind. I don't see _you_ helping with this."

"No, but we both know I'd just screw it up if I tried. You comin' to bed?"

"In a bit. Let me work on this just a bit more."

Alfred shrugged. "Okay, whatever you say. And I was planning to leave the curtains open tonight… oh well. I can always just amuse myself."

"You do that." Arthur pushed his hair out of his face and picked up a pen.

Alfred sighed, shrugging off his bathrobe and dropping it on the floor. "Righty then. I won't wait up."

"Mm. Go ahead." Arthur wasn't really listening, but after Alfred went upstairs, it clicked. Come to bed… amuse himself… and didn't they only leave the curtains open when they had sex, since it let in the moonlight? "Oh, come on!" Arthur stood up from the table, calling upstairs, "Alfred F. Jones, you are a manipulative bastard, you know that?"

"Yep, and proud of it!" He was already a little bit breathless.

_Well, he wasn't kidding around. Damn, I'd better get up there._

And that was how Arthur found himself on his hands and knees, Alfred behind him and thrusting relentlessly. And _oh_, it was good. He let Alfred know as much, moaning every time his prostate was struck. It felt so good to let it all out without holding anything back, even after a couple of years of living on their own.

Alfred gripped his hips a little harder, groaning as he pushed himself as deep as he could into Arthur over and over. "Artie… you're so tight…"

"Mmh… you do know you're the only one who's b-been up there, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do." Alfred bit his ear gently, whispering, "And I love that. God, this is so—ngh!" He thrust harder, and Arthur's arms finally gave out. He leaned forward, almost face-first in the bedsheets, his hips still up in the air since Alfred's firm hold on them prevented him from collapsing completely.

Arthur fisted the bedsheets, moaning into a pillow when he felt Alfred's pace pick up even more, just plowing into him over and over in the most wonderful way. He pushed back against his lover, trying to get him even deeper, crying out when one of Alfred's hands left his hips to toy with his erection.

Alfred's hand slipped further back, feeling where they were connected, then tracing Arthur's lower back and running along the notches in his spine. Arthur shivered at the waves of pure pleasure that washed over him, feeling Alfred's own little shudder and hearing his soft moans.

Arthur felt Alfred's cock throb inside of him and he groaned, feeling the pressure building, the coil in his stomach tightening, until he finally snapped, moaning Alfred's name as he came all over the bed, feeling nothing but white-hot pleasure.

He glanced over his shoulder, full of a gentle, warm afterglow, loving the way Alfred's eyes glazed over, how flushed he was, and how he licked his lips and panted. Then Alfred scrunched up his eyebrows, biting his lip and gasping, filling Arthur to the brim.

He collapsed on Arthur almost as soon as he was done. "Wow…" He kissed the back of Arthur's neck. "That was great."

"Mm. It was. You never know how much you need something like that until you have it."

Alfred sighed, nuzzling his shoulder. "Yeah. You going back downstairs?"

"No. Taxes can wait. They'll still be there in the morning."

_This moment won't._

"Aw, you're choosing me over money? How sweet!"

"Of course, you dolt." Arthur pushed Alfred off him and over to one side, kissing him. "Now let's go to sleep."

"Yeah. Love you, babe."

"I love you too, my sweet."

…

June 23rd, 1947.

After what had been a normal, slow night at the fire station, there was finally a call. And it wasn't a false alarm. A house downtown was on fire, probably because of a gas leak. Both Arthur and Alfred were on duty that night, and were both sent to the site.

By the time they arrived there, the owner of the house was out front, throwing quite a fit. It was understandable that she'd be upset, but she was preventing the men from getting to work, which was a problem. Arthur dragged her out of the way by her arm. "Listen, miss, you need to stay out of their way, they're trying to save your house."

"My sewing's in there on the-"

"You sewing is the least important thing in the world right now! Smarten up, miss."

She looked surprised, then crossed her arms. "Well that wasn't very polite. I'm making a quilt for my niece."

"Miss, my job isn't to be polite, it's to save lives. And you can always start a new quilt. Was anyone else in the building?"

"No, it's just me."

Arthur sighed in relief and called to the other firefighters, "No rescues needed, men! Just put out the fire and be done with it!" He turned back to the young woman. "You're not injured at all? Didn't breathe in any smoke?"

"No, I'm fine." She sighed. "This is just great. Where the hell am I gonna live now? And what am I gonna do about all my stuff?"

Arthur shrugged. "I'm sure the community will pull together for you. We'll figure something out, don't worry."

And figure it out they did, holding a meeting the next morning in the town hall. There it was decided that they would rebuild her house for a very low cost, and that everyone would donate whatever they could to replace what she had lost. Katie Newton, that was her name, was pretty surprised by how generous everyone was, and thanked the townspeople publicly.

Then came the matter of living arrangements. No one seemed to have a free room, so eventually Alfred and Arthur had to speak up. "So, uh, we have an extra bedroom at our place." Alfred blushed when everyone turned to stare at him. "I mean, if she doesn't mind staying with us. Do you, Miss Newton?"

"Not really, no."

The mayor raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? A single young lady like you staying with two unattached men?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "Excuse me, sir, but I don't think either of us are in a position to be romantically involved with her."

"But neither of you are married right now."

"That may be the case, but we both made a promise."

All the women in the room tittered amongst themselves, and the men looked at the mayor expectantly. He shrugged. "All right then, that's settled."

When everyone was leaving, a girl came up and grabbed Arthur's arm. "What you said was so sweet! If I go before my Jimmy, I hope he'll be that true to me."

Arthur smiled and patted her hand. "I'm sure he will be, if he really loves you."

Katie approached them both. "So… the one with the accent is Arthur and the taller one is Alfred. I think I got it."

Arthur rolled his eyes when Alfred grinned, muttering, "You're not _that_ much taller, honestly. It's only a couple centimetres."

"Whatever, I'm still taller. Hey, let me help you with your bags, Miss Newton!"

"Call me Katie."

"Sure thing, Katie. Arthur, let the lady ride in front!"

"Alfred, I was getting the car door for her."

She looked between the two of them and sighed. "Oh boy. I have a feeling that this is gonna be living with my parents again.

…

July 7th, 1947.

The next couple weeks were a bit hard for Arthur. He had to get used to sleeping alone again, as well as not being overtly affectionate with Alfred. And he had to remember to make sure nobody was around when he forgot his clothes while taking a bath and walked down the hall in nothing but a towel to get them.

Well, Alfred could be around, but he couldn't seem to resist touching Arthur. After they almost got caught by Katie when Alfred's hand was stroking him under the towel, Arthur had learned to be a little more careful.

She was nice enough, and quite helpful, since she had grown up on a farm herself. Luckily, she was a schoolteacher, so she didn't have to worry about missing work while her house was rebuilt. Katie and Arthur got along quite well, despite their initial exchange the night of the fire.

But she seemed to act a little strangely around Alfred. She blushed and got nervous whenever he smiled at her. Arthur realized that she was falling for his lover, and that there was nothing he could do about it. Alfred was apparently oblivious, which was quite maddening.

That night, after a particularly obvious bout of flirting from Katie at dinner, and mind-numbingly dense reactions from Alfred, Arthur was just about banging his head against the wall in frustration. But he just sat in a rocking chair, sewing a button back onto one of his shirts and considering embroidering his initials onto the front pocket, when Alfred sat in the armchair next to him and flashed Arthur once of his dazzling, confident, sexy grins, the kind he only gave Arthur. "Hey. Whatcha doin'?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Looks like you're fixing a shirt."

"Precisely. Is there something you want?"

"Can't a guy talk to another guy without having a secret, self-serving agenda?"

"Not you."

"Boo. _So _not true. Anyways, I just wanted to ask, could you fix a hole in my pants pocket next?" He put his hand in his pocket and pulled the fabric out, showing Arthur a sizeable hole. "My keys keep falling out and it's driving me nuts."

"Then put them in the other pocket."

"But that just feels weird!"

"Tough love, Al."

Alfred pouted. "You're so mean to me."

"Get over it. I'm not your mother or your wife."

"I coulda guessed that much. You don't have boobs."

"Alfred!"

"Sorry, sorry. But seriously, I have another question."

"Fire away."

"Have you noticed something with Katie? I think there's something wrong with her eyes."

"Pardon?"

"She's been blinking an awful lot lately."

Arthur stifled a laugh behind his hand. "You just now noticed? Good god, that took you a while! Al, she's in love with you. She's been batting her eyelashes at you."

"Oh." Alfred frowned. "You sure?"

"I'm positive."

"Wow. I had no idea."

"That's because you're an idiot."

"Hey! Be nice. But what am I supposed to do? I mean, I can't exactly love her back."

"I don't know what you're supposed to do, my dear… boy." Arthur barely remembered to turn the term of endearment into something much less intimate. He was glad he did, because he heard the sound of feet pattering up the stairs and then a door closing.

Alfred winced. "She heard all of that, didn't she?"

"Quite probably."

"Shit. Oh well! Hey, can you fix my pants now?"

"Alfred, you just likely broke a woman's heart and you're asking me to mend your pants?"

"Well, it had to be done. And will you?" Alfred batted his eyelashes then, and Arthur caved.

"…yes, I will." He kissed Alfred on the forehead, murmuring against his skin, "But only because you're actually right."

…

July 25th, 1947.

It was incredibly hot out. Arthur and Alfred were in the hay barn, stacking up hay bales as high as they could to make room for new ones.

"Holy hell, it's hot in here."

"Well, it is July." Alfred sighed. His t-shirt was soaked, clinging to him so tightly that it left nothing to the imagination. Arthur had unbuttoned his own short-sleeved shirt halfway, and his hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. They stopped to drink from a bottle of water, passing it back and forth.

Arthur sighed, wiping the sweat out of his eyes. "Let's get back to work. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can go inside and wash up."

"Yeah, you're right." Alfred took his shirt off completely, tossing it into a corner of the barn and smirking when it landed with a heavy, wet 'flop'. Arthur unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way, hoping to cool down a little.

They got back to work, and lasted all of two minutes before looking at each other and stopping, holding a small bale of hay together in between them. They dropped it at the exact same time and stared at each other.

Arthur let his eyes roam unabashedly over his lover's body. "Alfred, you look bloody glorious."

"Babe, you have no idea how bad I want you right now."

"Oh, I think I do, actually."

They moved closer to each other at the same time, pressing their upper bodies together and looking into each other's eyes. Alfred tilted Arthur's chin up a bit and they kissed, starting out slow and sweet, but quickly growing desperate, needing more.

Alfred's arms were sweaty when Arthur gripped them, but he couldn't have cared less. He was too busy feeling how perfectly muscled his lover was, how Alfred's hands palmed his waist and slid down to hold onto his hips.

Arthur pushed his tongue into Alfred's mouth, barely holding back a moan as he ground his hips forward, feeling that Alfred was just as aroused as him. They hadn't had a chance to be together in over a month, and Arthur's hand just wasn't enough to satisfy him anymore, not when he knew how much better Alfred was.

No matter what they did in the privacy of their bedrooms, Arthur was always blown away afterwards, and the pleasure he gained from masturbating was a poor substitute. No, _this_ was what he was missing, the way Alfred could get him to lose control so easily.

Alfred wasn't much better off, moaning into Arthur's mouth when the Brit ran his hands over his nipples, down his chest and stomach, dipping into the waistband of his pants. Alfred's hands moved, tugging on Arthur's belt loops before moving forward and toying with the button at the front.

They broke apart to breathe, leaning their foreheads together, on the verge on just tearing off their clothes and falling into the hay, when they heard someone calling them outside the barn. "Arthur? Alfred? You guys still in here?"

They broke apart automatically, grabbing the hay bale and picking it back up. Arthur cleared his throat. "Yes, we're in here!" Damn it all, his voice sounded strange, didn't it? Oh well.

Katie opened the barn door, standing there with a man behind her. "This man says he's here because Alfred fixed his fridge."

Alfred nodded. "Yeah, that's right, I did. Here, Artie, let's just put up this last one and call it a day."

"Indeed."

They stacked up the hay bale and left the barn, Arthur going back to the house with Katie and Alfred going to the garage with the man whose fridge he had fixed. Arthur glanced over his shoulder and caught Alfred looking back at him, not missing the hint of longing in his lover's eyes.

_The next time we're alone, I swear…_

He realized Katie was saying something and tried to listen, but he was really thinking about all the wonderfully dirty things he was going to do to Alfred when he could get him alone.

…

August 2nd, 1947.

The night was hot and muggy, even with the breeze coming in through Arthur's window. He couldn't sleep, so, struck by a random idea, he got out of bed and went downstairs, opening the door and going out onto the front porch, closing the door as quietly as he could.

What exactly he was planning to do out there, he wasn't sure, but then a voice spoke from the porch swing. "Whatcha doin'?"

Arthur jumped, saw it was just Alfred, and relaxed. He walked over and sat down next to his lover. "I couldn't sleep."

"Me either." Alfred was holding a glass, which he put down on the deck with a soft 'clink', and Arthur noticed the pitcher of water sitting there as well.

"Just how long have you been out here?"

"Not too long. I was just kinda thirsty."

Arthur leaned against Alfred, taking one of his hands and intertwining their fingers. "I see."

Alfred kissed him on the cheek. "Yeah." His voice dropped into a low, sultry tone. "I couldn't stop thinking about you all night, you know. I knew I'd end up barging into your room and begging you to take me if I didn't get outside."

"Oh really?" Arthur raised an eyebrow at Alfred, trailing a finger along Alfred's collarbone.

"Yeah. I didn't think Katie would appreciate that."

"You're quite right." Arthur leaned his head in, placing several wet, open-mouthed kisses along Alfred's neck and smiling when he felt his lover shiver.

"Hey, is she asleep?"

"As far as I know, yes."

"Awesome." Alfred smiled, and even in the dark, Arthur could see his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Just what are you planning?"

"Take a wild guess, babe."

"Alfred…" he wasn't sure if that was supposed to come out as a warning or a soft, breathy whisper, but it definitely sounded more like the latter.

"Yes?" Alfred replied cheekily, inching even closer to him, and Arthur sighed.

He really shouldn't have found Alfred so sexy when he was just looking at him, even if his eyes were half-lidded and his mouth was curled in that infuriatingly handsome smirk. But Arthur _did_ find him incredibly sexy, so he bit his lip and looked Alfred up and down slowly.

Damn, was he ever gorgeous, and Arthur wondered how he had managed to go without his touch for so long. He reached for Alfred's shirt, tugging it over his head. "You," he murmured, "are wearing _far_ too many clothes."

"You too, darling. C'mon, take it all off." Alfred stood up and pulled him to his feet, somehow managing to take Arthur's shirt off while he was at it. He ran his hands over Arthur's shoulders and down his chest. "I'd ask you to work outside shirtless all the time, but I don't think I could handle it. You're too irresistible. I just wanna mark you all up with love bites, show everyone that you're mine. "

Arthur sighed, leaning in to kiss Alfred. "Bloody flatterer."

"I mean every word of it."

"I know you do. Now, how do you want to do this?"

Alfred lay down on the deck, pulling Arthur on top of him. "Like I said, take a wild guess, darling." He kissed Arthur again, shimmying out of his pants and pulling Arthur's down as quickly as he could.

…

Afterwards, rather out of breath and feeling _very _happy, Arthur dragged Alfred to his feet. "Oy, come on. Pull up your pants."

"But if I do that, I'm gonna have to wash 'em tomorrow. Stuff comes out, you know."

"No kidding. And such is life. Now hurry up, if you want to get any sleep tonight."

"Sleep is overrated. I'd rather cuddle with you until morning!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "If I had known that fucking you into the deck would make you act drunk, I wouldn't have done it. Well, that's not quite true. But you get my point."

"Whatever, it was fun! And good. Really good."

They were half-whispering, sneaking up the stairs to their rooms, and Arthur felt a bit like a teenager sneaking back into the house, trying not to wake anyone up. He stopped at the doorway to his room, hugging Alfred briefly. "Good night, you strange, strange man."

"Same to you, Artie. Sleep tight, 'kay?"

They both cast a glance at Katie's door, saw it was closed, and kissed quickly. Arthur chuckled when Alfred leaned on him and squeezed him tightly. "Don't break my ribs, now."

"Whatever. You're tougher than that."

"I suppose. Really now, we both need to get to bed."

"Yeah, true. Hey, we oughta do that again sometime!"

Arthur motioned to Katie's room. "Don't wake Katie up, you dolt. And of course we will. The next time you can't sleep, just wake me up and we can 'talk'." He winked, and Alfred grinned.

"Sure thing! G'night."

"Goodnight."

They kissed again, whispered 'I love you' at the same time, smiled, and stepped into their rooms. Arthur closed the door and sighed happily, leaning against the wood. Even if they had to pretend there was nothing between them, no one was going to keep them apart.

…

August 12th, 1947.

Katie's house was now fixed up, and people from the town were helping move everything in while Arthur and Alfred helped her pack. She zipped up the last of her suitcases, looked around the room one last time, and sighed. "I guess that's everything."

Arthur nodded. "Indeed. If you leave anything here, we'll bring it to your house for you."

"Yeah. I know I've said it a lot, but thanks for letting me stay here."

Arthur waved dismissively, smiling. "And as I've said countless times, it was really no trouble at all. You're an excellent houseguest." Arthur looked out the window, where Alfred was waiting by the truck for her.

She nodded and looked down at her feet, and Arthur narrowed his eyes. It looked like she wanted to say something important, but she just muttered a quick goodbye and left, running down the stairs and outside. Arthur saw her get into the truck, and waved from the window.

Alfred was going to drop her off at her house and help unload all of her things, and Arthur was going to get as many chores as possible done while he was gone. He wanted as much free time as he could get with Alfred, since they hadn't had much time alone.

By the time Alfred got home, the only thing left to do was weeding the vegetable garden, which they got to work on right away, talking as they did so.

"Katie's place looks pretty nice now! They sure fixed it up for her."

"Glad to hear it. Does she like it?"

"Yeah. She was super happy when she saw the inside. I mean, she's gonna be doing a lot of gardening 'cuz the yard's a mess, but you know she likes doing that anyways."

"That's good."

"I know. Oh yeah, she asked me to tell you something, but I don't really get it."

"What was it?"

"She said 'tell Arthur that being alone forever won't make him happy.' Do you get it?"

Arthur thought for a minute. "Yes, actually. She believes we're both widowers, correct?"

"Yeah, her and everybody else. So?"

"She thinks that not remarrying is a bad idea. That staying unmarried until death wouldn't make me happy. Of course, I can only assume that-"

"She fell in love with you, right? Man. First she falls for me, then for you. She's got good taste in men, but _horrible_ luck."

Arthur stifled a laugh, which ended up coming out more like a snort. "Alfred, that was a terrible thing to say!"

"Hey, it's true and you know it." Alfred stood up, brushing the dirt from his hands and helping Arthur up. "There, we're done. What would you say to a quick bath, lunch, and a nap?"

"A nap or a _nap?"_

"Your choice, darling." He winked at Arthur.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, taking off his gardening gloves and tossing them onto the ground. "What if I want both?"

"Then we can have both."

In the bath, while Arthur soaped up Alfred's back, he murmured, "Katie's wrong, by the way."

"Huh?"

"Not being married will make me the happiest man in the world."

Alfred laughed quietly, grinning over his shoulder at Arthur. "Same here, Artie. Hey, you remember the first time you gave me a bath?"

"Yes, I do. That was over three years ago, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. It seems so long ago, but I still remember it like it was yesterday. You know, I liked you a lot when we first met, but I never thought…"

"That we'd end up on our own little bit of heaven-on-earth together?"

"Exactly. But I'm happy things turned out the way they did."

Arthur nodded, pressing a kiss to the back of Alfred's neck "I am as well. There are only a few good things I can say happened because of the war, but this is at the very top of that list."

"Artie?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

Arthur smiled and turned Alfred's head slightly so he could kiss him properly. "I love you too."

…

_End Ch. 12_

* * *

**Again, thank you so much for everything! **

**~lumaluma**


	13. Epilogue

December 25th, 1949.

Alfred's family had come to the farm for the holidays that year. Alfred's little sister, Megan, had to sleep on a sofa, since there were only three bedrooms and Alfred and Arthur weren't sharing one. Needless to say, she was not at all pleased about this. It was also a little bit tricky to find enough time to take a bath, since there was only one bathroom for all five of them, but it was sort of nice to have people visiting.

After all the fuss of presents, building snowmen (and snowwomen, in Megan's case) in the yard, and the Christmas dinner, things were winding down for the night. Alfred and his father were out in the garage doing god-knows-what, and Arthur and Mrs. Jones (who insisted that Arthur call her Susanna) were both inside knitting. Megan was by the fire, reading a book, smiling to herself every once in a while.

Arthur put down his knitting and stood up. "I'm going to make some hot chocolate. Would either of you like some?"

Megan looked up from her book. "Yes please!"

"Sure, that sounds great." Susanna put her own knitting down when Arthur returned with a tray of hot cocoa and gingerbread men, which Alfred had made the day before with Megan. She took a mug and smiled at Arthur. "I'm still surprised you aren't married yet. You're how old now?"

"Twenty-eight."

"Well, you don't have much time left if you want to find a nice lady."

Arthur felt a little uncomfortable, but tried not to show it, making a noncommittal sound of agreement. Alfred's little sister looked up from her book and raised an eyebrow. For an twelve-year-old, she was awfully perceptive, and it made Arthur wonder if Alfred had just inherited all the cluelessness in his family.

Megan spoke, "Well, I think it's cool that you're living out here with Al. He couldn't run a farm like this on his own, that's for sure."

"Megan!"

"C'mon, Mom. You know it's true!"

Suzanna rolled her eyes and murmured to Arthur, "Don't mind her."

"Oh, but she's right." Arthur took a sip of his cocoa. "Feeding the cat and repairing what's in the garage are the only things he remembers to do regularly."

The cat, who they had christened Oliver, was curled up on Megan's feet over by the fire. He got up and moved closer to the fire when the front door opened, letting in a rush of cold air. Alfred and his father quickly closed the door behind them.

Alfred's dad sighed. "Whoo! It's freezing out there."

Arthur immediately stood and went to help brush snow off of Alfred, just out of habit. "You look awfully cold. Here, take off your boots and come by the fire, both of you."

Alfred's father kicked off his shoes. "Don't mind if I do. Hey, cookies!" He went over to the fire and snatched a couple cookies up off the tray.

Arthur hung Alfred's coat up in the hall closet, and had to remind himself not to take his lover's hand. He did pass Alfred his mug of hot chocolate to drink from, however, which did not go unnoticed by Megan. She looked between Alfred and Arthur, smiled to herself, and went back to her book.

Arthur frowned. _Damn that girl and her abnormal observation skills. It's like dealing with Matthew all over again._

Once everyone was getting ready for bed and it was just Arthur and Megan left downstairs, she closed her book. "So."

"So…?"

"You and Al are closer than most, huh?"

Arthur shrugged. "War brings people together in strange ways. You'd be surprised by how many bonds are forged during wartime."

"Whatever. Just be good to each other, okay? And I think Mom might've started to notice something. She won't really care, I don't think, but she wants grandkids someday." Megan sighed. "And I'm the only kid in the family left. I'm still at the age where guys are gross and don't bathe enough. She's gonna be an old grandma."

Arthur smiled. "At least you're taking the responsibility upon yourself."

"Yeah, I know. But as long as Al's happy, she'll be happy." She pulled a bunch of blankets off the floor, setting the couch up as her bed. "I'm just hoping that the next time we visit, you guys won't be hogging all the bedrooms. I've woken up with Ollie sitting on my head four times already."

Arthur nodded. "I'll see what I can do about that, Megan."

"Call me Meg. My friends call me Meg."

"All right, Meg." Arthur cleared away the tray with the now-empty mugs on it and nodded at her. "Goodnight."

"G'night."

Arthur got ready for bed in the bathroom, and as soon as he stepped out into the hallway, Alfred hugged him from behind. "Surprise!"

"Hello, Al. What do you want?"

"You, duh. I need to talk to you about something."

Arthur glanced around quickly, then opened the door to his bedroom. "Come on in." He sat on the bed. "What is it?"

"I was talking with Dad earlier." Alfred sat down next to him.

"And?"

"He said… well, how should I put it…?"

Arthur swallowed nervously. This wasn't going to be good news.

Alfred grinned suddenly. "Oh yeah! He said he's happy that we're still on the farm together. We make a good team or something, guess."

"And?"

"Well, he's not expecting us to marry any pretty young ladies or anything, but he wants us to be careful, you know, keep a low profile. "

Arthur smiled. "That's excellent news. Your sister figured us out, by the way."

"What? Really? Ah, Meg. She really needs to stop reading. It's making her too smart."

Arthur chuckled, taking Alfred's hand. "Well, a smart woman is a strong woman."

"True, true." Alfred squeezed his hand, smiling at him.

"Is that all you had to say?"

"Pretty much, yep." Alfred leaned over, kissing Arthur soundly. "I'll get the light on my way out. Sleep tight, you hear me?"

Arthur stroked Alfred's cheek. "The bed isn't nearly as warm without you, but I'll manage."

Alfred smiled when he stood up. "Well, soon enough I'll be there to warm you up again."

"Of course you will, my love."

…

My 7th, 1955.

"Just sit still, will you?"

"But waiting around is _so_ boring! When are they gonna show up already?"

They were sitting in the living room, Alfred continually fidgeting with one thing or another. Arthur rolled his eyes. "When Matthew called from the train station, he said it'd probably be a couple hours, so just relax. They'll be here soon."

"C'mon, you're excited too! We haven't seem 'em for like, four years! Not since they came to see us after visiting Matt's family."

"Yes, I know. But keep some of that excitement contained. You're too old for this nonsense."

"You're _never_ too old to be happy." Alfred grinned at Arthur, who tried to look disapproving but couldn't quite manage to. Ten years of living together, and he was still an absolute sap for Alfred.

"You… you're hopeless."

"So are you."

Just then, the doorbell rang, and they both jumped to their feet. Alfred practically ran to the door, and Arthur just shook his head and smiled. When he opened the door, Alfred practically jumped on Matthew. "Mattie! How ya been?"

Arthur and Francis just rolled their eyes and hugged briefly, Arthur actually able to avoid crinkling up his nose when Francis air-kissed his cheeks. "Your Alfred certainly hasn't changed much."

"Neither has your Matthew."

Matthew, who had initially been almost knocked over by Alfred, recovered quickly enough and hugged him back. "Good to see you, Al."

Alfred let go of him and decided it was time to attack Francis, so Arthur rolled his eyes and hugged Matthew. "It's good to see you again."

"Yeah, it's been a while."

Arthur took one of their bags. "Same room as always?"

"Sure, that'd be great. Hey Francis, I'm taking our stuff upstairs, okay?"

"Yes, go right ahead!"

Matthew followed Arthur up the stairs, carrying another suitcase and leaving Alfred and Francis to babble downstairs. "The farm looks great, by the way. You and Al have done a lot of fixing up, eh?"

"Yes, we have. It's been quite a lot of work, really, but it's worth it." Arthur set the suitcase down on the bedroom floor and rolled his eyes, seeing that Ollie was sitting on the bed. "Oh, come on now. This isn't your room, Ollie."

"Hey, there he is!" Matthew put down the other suitcase and scooped up the cat. "How are you, big guy? Whoa, you're heavy. He's getting pretty chubby, eh?"

"Blame Alfred. He spoils that cat like you wouldn't believe. You haven't met the other one yet, have you?"

"Pete? No, I haven't. You write about him enough, and I heard you scolding him over the phone earlier."

"He gets himself tangled in the cords, the silly creature. You'd think he was still a kitten, but he's two years old already."

Matthew chuckled. "Well, that's pets for you." He sighed. "It's nice to finally be off the road. We've been travelling for pretty much two days straight!"

"I know the feeling. It's always good to finally get to where you're going."

They went downstairs, where Arthur announced that it was tea-time and ushered everyone into the dining room. Francis joined him in the kitchen though, leaning against a counter. "Need any help?"

"Sure, why not? There's some fruit in the fridge, would you mind washing it?"

"No problem." Francis looked out the window as he worked. "It's so quiet here… especially compared to Paris. Don't you get lonely?"

"Not really. I've got Alfred and the cats, and there's always things to do. The townspeople are really quite nice too, and we've made some fast friends over the years."

"Ah, I see. Matthew and I have found a nice group of friends ourselves, and ever since people really started coming back to Paris, business has been booming. A little too much, occasionally. I've been working overtime, even with my apprentice. She's an excellent student, really, but…"

"It's not quite enough help."

"Exactly. Oh, but Matthew's a wonderful helper…" Francis sighed happily. "After a long day, he'll do anything to make me more comfortable. It's times like those that make me love him all the more, you know?"

Arthur nodded, putting a few sandwiches he'd made on a plate. "I know what you mean. The other day, I was having the worst allergy attack to some kind of pollen in the air, and Alfred brought me a cup of my favourite tea and insisted I go take a nap as soon as I was done. The little things matter so much more than you'd think, don't they?"

"Yes, indeed they do."

The kettle boiled, so Arthur poured hot water into the teapot he had set up. "Here, help me carry everything out there."

When they entered the dining room, they heard Alfred and Matthew talking. "Really? Aw, that's so sweet!"

"I know, eh? And that's not even the half of it."

"Hey, I know exactly what you mean. Just last week, I was feeling super tired and Artie—oh hey, there they are!"

They immediately stopped talking, and Arthur rolled his eyes, sitting down next to Alfred. "Well, now that we're all together, we may as well catch up on what's new. Speaking of which, Francis, your English is much better than it used to be."

The Frenchman shrugged. "Matthew and I spend about half our time in English and half in French. Besides, I've been dealing with plenty of British tourists lately in my shop. And you, Arthur, are much less pathetically pale, even compared to the last time we were here."

Alfred grinned, taking Arthur's hand and squeezing it gently. "You can thank me for that one! So, anything new with you guys?"

Matthew shrugged. "Well… not really. I mean, the bakery's been doing really well, we've been getting all kinds of orders recently. We made a wedding cake for some movie star a few months ago, and since then, everyone's been nuts over us. It's a lot of work, but it's pretty fun. But really, it's just nice to see you two again. It's been so long."

Arthur nodded, pouring them all tea. "Indeed it has. It's wonderful to see you both again as well, especially considering what day it is." When everyone just looked at him blankly, Arthur rolled his eyes. "Am I honestly the only one who remembered what happened ten years ago, on this day?"

Matthew was predictably the first to realize it. "Oh! That's when the war ended."

Francis tilted his head. "It is, isn't it? It seems so long ago…"

Alfred shrugged and put an arm around Arthur. "Well, I dunno about you guys, but it's been a great ten years for us."

Matthew smiled, taking Francis' hand. "It's been better than I ever could've hoped for."

They just chatted for the rest of the day, giving them tour of what improvements they had made to the farm, and when it came time to make dinner, Francis and Arthur surprised themselves by how well they could get along. Alfred and Matthew just sat in the living room and amused themselves by playing with the cats.

After dinner, they were sitting around and playing cards, and Matthew announced that he wanted a cat when they got back to France. Francis, of course, blamed it on Alfred, and was initially a little unsure about the idea. But he was suckered into it after Pete sat on his lap and purred for ten minutes straight.

They went to bed late that night, and the way they said good night to each other, it almost felt like the old days back at the hospital. Only they were all several years older and wiser, as well as much happier.

Alfred cuddled up to Arthur as soon as they were under the blankets, wrapping his arms tightly around Arthur's torso and kissing him all over his neck, shoulders, and chest. Arthur suppressed a laugh, messing up Alfred's hair and pulling him into a kiss, snuggling against his lover.

He buried his head into Alfred's neck a bit. "Mm… I love you."

"I know. I love you too." Alfred squeezed him a bit tighter, then whispered, "Even after all this time, sometimes I still can't believe we're really here together, you know. It's just all so amazing."

"I know." Arthur kissed Alfred's forehead. "Sometimes it seems like things just fell perfectly into place for us."

"Yeah. You know, I never really thought I'd say this, but I'm glad I got shot in the leg."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. I might not have met you otherwise."

Arthur smiled. "In that case, I'm glad you got shot as well. I know I've said it countless times over the years, but you really are the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"Same to you, babe." Alfred kissed him on the cheek. "And you're always gonna be that for me."

"Forever?"

"Just like we promised, Artie. Forever."

_The End._

* * *

**I want to thank everyone for reading and for all of the amazing feedback I've gotten. Believe me, I wouldn't have gotten anywhere near this far without you. It's been a long road, full of bumps and things that had me practically tearing my hair out in frustration, but I'm glad I stuck with this. **

**Ending things is always very bittersweet, but in a way I'm glad I ended it here. Now, there probably won't be a sequel, but I might use this as a universe for future writings. **

**Again, thank you so much for reading, and for those who have been following since the beginning (even to those who just started following last chapter), thank you for sticking with me! I'm glad I was finally able to write something like this and actually complete it. **

**Thanks for everything, and I mean it.**

**~lumaluma**


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